


You Damn Me, My Love

by BleuHenri



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Betrayal, Dark Labyrinth, Dealfic, Drama & Romance, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fae Magic, Forbidden Love, Jareth's Family - Freeform, Scary goblins, Secret Mission, You can't say no the beauty and the beast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 14:51:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 192,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4226031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BleuHenri/pseuds/BleuHenri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can never love her without fear of the consequences.</p>
<p>The Goblin King is suspected of violating an ancient law. Sarah is forced by the Fae Queen to trick him into confessing. But the crime is his love for her, and if she can't keep her heart to herself they will both lose everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

A/N: I am SO in love with David Bowie. And the Labyrinth rules my dreams as of late. This story has a vague sense of Beauty and the Beast about it, with some other dramas to fill in the plot. And lots of angst about Sarah and Jareth loving each other. I haven't written like this in years, with so much intense energy - I have sat at my computer for hours and hours writing. 

 

 

**Prologue**

 

Mira El’Maven was not a warm woman, nor was she particularly forgiving. Her expectations afforded little room for mistakes, her displeasure greatly feared by any with common sense. Those who knew her in a personal capacity might protest that she could stand to be at least a little softer around the edges. Especially towards her own children, with whom her relationship could be described as lukewarm at best. Whenever these insinuations were cautiously made Mira would scoff. Her reign as Queen of the Fae Domain had not lasted over three centuries because she was _loving._

“I will not allow discord to ensue for lack of an objective ruler,” she’d mumbled to herself that very morning. Such a litany often calmed her in moments of particular frustration. It gave her something to hold onto whilst following up ripples of unease throughout her Domain. She should have known that feeling the need to utter such a phrase foreshadowed a problem yet to present itself. Her stabs of discontentment were often a sign of prescience, such power having been distributed among the Fae at random during The Birth of All Things, in the very beginning.

She was not only fierce in nature but in appearance. Tall and thin like most of her kind the strength lay in her eyes, glittering and burning like diamonds on fire. Her striking black and gold facial markings covered her face like the upper half of a mask, contrasting with her near white complexion. She had a tight, pointed expression, made all the more austere for her frosty hair pulled severely into a bun. No, such a visage was not made to portray kindness.

With an impatient sniff Mira waited for the Elvish messenger in front of her to reorganise the reports he’d dropped in his eagerness to serve. The irony was not lost on her as she glared at him through heavy lidded eyes. She said nothing. Silence was often the best way to get a point across.

“Forgive me, your Majesty,” he stammered, licking his lips and giving the papers a final shake as he straightened. She labelled him as inept at best and doubted he would last the rest of the day, with a servant personality such as that.

“In the hope that you have at last gained proper control of your limbs, I ask again: what reports have you of the Goblin Realm?” Mira said coldly.

The Elf cleared his throat. “Ma’am, I have word that the Labyrinth has been solved again.”

“Oh?” Her mouth twitched in irritation. Occasionally a runner would succeed in defeating the Goblin King. It was not a common occurrence, perhaps happening every few decades, but during these times Mira made it a point to call upon the King and be sure that he was not slipping in his ruling of the Goblin Realm. Control was not to be taken for granted with such vile creatures, and Mira would make no excuses for a lack of leadership. “I wondered when my patience would be tested today. Go on.”

The Elf’s voice shook in his attempt to relay the report accurately. “It is written that yesterday, the twentieth day of the sixteenth month of the year, at 3 minutes to thirteen hundred hours, in the castle of the Goblin King, one human female did complete the Labyrinth and survive her encounter with the King and his entrapments. The sibling was forfeited to her and she has since returned to the Above with him.” His pride in reiterating the story dissipated at the look on his Queen’s face.

“One human female,” she repeated, carefully blank. “What age?”

He checked his paper. “Fifteen years old, Ma’am.”

Her fingers dug into the arms of her elaborate throne. “Fifteen years. An important amount of time to a girl on the verge of womanhood…yet nothing to us. A mere heartbeat. A blink. If we blink again, she may be seventy and dying.” Mira tapped her fingers against the cold marble of her seat. “Send for the Goblin King,” she commanded. “I wish for him to explain to me himself how a filly such as this has defeated his great and powerful Labyrinth.” The boy bowed. “As you wish, Ma’am.” He made to leave but she stopped him with a hand in the air. “And as for you, young Elf, if you wish to remain in my service longer than a day see that you do not drop another paper for the rest of your life.” Shamefaced, the servant nodded and disappeared. Left alone again, Mira pinched the bridge of her nose, eyes shut tight. So this was the problem yet to present itself? She hoped this could be explained away. A simple misunderstanding. A pure fluke. She would have to wait to hear from the King himself before she could lay it to rest.

 

* * *

 

 

Jareth was a seething mess of denied dreams and abject humiliation. He was a king with a broken crown, a hurting heart. Crossing one leg over the other, he leaned into the cool glass of the bay window where he sat, brooding. Below him, the castle grounds stretched out in a rippling field of shadows and moonlight. He turned his gaze upwards, to the bright lights winking in and out of existence.

“I move the stars for no one,” he whispered to himself. How could she have said no? She’d _asked_ for this, had _begged_ for the child to be taken, had recounted endless times her desire for a Goblin King who loved her. He’d offered it all, down to every last detail. Being master of the Labyrinth was a role he’d beared for more than two centuries. He hadn’t expected to play the part so convincingly as to _actually_ adore her. Oh, but Fate help him, how he did. He’d watched her many times in the park playing out the story from that cursed book, a poor imitation of his real life’s work. With every telling her words, though never the _right_ words, had peaked his interest. How he’d begun to hope for the day she might say things correctly, wish him to her. He’d grown painfully curious to see how a fine young thing like her would flourish in his Labyrinth. He should never have hoped for such a time. For the cursed creature had infuriated him, mystified him, defeated him…and though it went against all rules and logic, he’d loved her for it. Did love her, still. Even now that she was gone, even now that she was out there in her own world rejoicing in her freedom and caring for that little brother she’d loathed so much. He clenched his fists in his lap, shaking with emotion. Where was his reward for granting her wishes? What did the Goblin King get for betraying his own kind and loving Sarah Williams? He got a knock on the door. He got a summons. He was rewarded with infinite sadness and a sudden fear because he was about to face the Queen of the Fae. And though it would have to be done, he did not like lying to his mother.

 

* * *

 

 

It took too long for her son to respond to the summons. Mira glanced at the clock on the opposite wall, wondering what was keeping him. The thin line of her mouth turned down in an irritated manner. This sort of noncompliance had never been a problem when her husband had still been alive. Oh true, he’d turned out to be a fool of a man, far too soft to run the Domain effectively…but he’d had a way with his subjects and his children that had always procured their unwavering cooperation. _Just as well he’s dead,_ she thought bitterly. _It would break his heart anew to see the impetuous creature his son has become._

Finally, when she was beginning to think he was doing this just for mere dramatic effect, the Goblin King appeared at the entrance to the throne room. He dismissed the messenger who had brought him and approached her in his usual manner: like a wildcat that was making an effort to appear tame. Today she found the attitude especially irksome, considering the reason for his summons. When he reached the foot of the throne he gave a small bow and kissed her hand, as propriety dictated. At least he offered her that pitiful act of subservience. When he stood erect once more, her eyes widened momentarily. She’d forgotten how much his appearance reflected her own. She dealt more often with his sister, who was the spitting image of the late Fae King.

“Mother,” her son intoned drily. “It has been too long.”

“Jareth,” Mira replied curtly. “What happened today?”

His mouth twitched in a frown, she noted, before forcing a smile. “Always straight to business, aren’t we, mother of mine?”

“I have little choice when my messengers inform me of failure from the realms of my own offspring. What would you have me do? Ask you about your plans for the upcoming Harvest Festival when I know you have lost to yet another human?”

“You say that as if it happens often,” Jareth countered. “My last incident was over five decades ago, was it not? And as I told you then, it was pure accident that I lost –”

“Enough.” Mira straightened in her chair, pinning him with a gaze hot enough to brand skin. “Tell me why you were bested by a fifteen year old child, Jareth.”

Something in his eyes darkened. “She is not a _child_ ,” he hissed, before raising his voice. “She was more than I was expecting, that is all, mother.”

“That is all? No. That is not enough. Jareth, the safety of the Borderlands depends on your absolute power over the goblin hordes. Your _absolute_ power. If they so much as catch a whiff of hesitation, of weakness, the state will be overrun.”

Jareth seemed to be forcing himself to remain calm. She could see it in his carefully slouched posture, his relaxed hands that clenched from time to time. And his eyes. There was something he was not telling her. “I control the goblins,” he said in a forcefully calm voice. “Me. _The Goblin King_. You need not fear any rebellion as long as I remain on my throne.”

“Ah. Your throne.” She nodded. “And have I not been _generous_ , my son? Granting you a kingdom though you are only, by rights, a prince? And what’s more, bestowing upon you a realm that was intended for your sister, no less? I _gave_ you that throne, Jareth. I will not hesitate to take it away should you start to show signs of weakness.”

At the mention of his sister, Jareth’s jaw tightened but he smiled nonetheless, inclining his head. “You know that I am most grateful for your generosity, mother. Please, be reassured that I rule my kingdom with nothing less than absolute precision. The girl survived only through a series of small fortunes and bested me only with the greatest of luck.”

“And what of the Dwarf, the Fox Dog and the Rock Friend? The pitiful team that helped her through the Labyrinth? _Your_ subjects?”

His smile faltered. Clearly, he hadn’t expected her to know about them. “They have been punished accordingly,” he said, suitably meek for once. “To the extent that no one will dare help a runner henceforth for fear of the same punishment.”

Mira considered her son, who was little over three centuries old, who had so much to learn. She had probably loved him once upon a time, when she was new to motherhood and distracted by emotion. That had been so long ago, before she was named Queen and before duty had become the cornerstone of her existence. She knew the man before her to be a reflection of herself: cold and calculating, withholding so much from so many. Which was to say, really, that she barely knew him at all. “Son, is there nothing you wish to tell me?” she asked, giving him a final chance.

He met her carefully blank face with his own, equally unreadable. “No, mother. Nothing at all.”

“Very well. Go.” He bowed again, just short of true submission, and vanished. Later, as Mira perused the report Lacan had brought her on the event, she frowned. Something deeply wrong had happened here. She felt it like an invisible string tugging at the web of the Fae’s world. A rule had been broken. She read the report several times.

_Sarah Williams…_ she intended to investigate that name thoroughly.

 


	2. Ten Years Gone

**Ten Years Gone**

 

It was an innocent enough request: they wanted to be read a story.

Sarah could understand their restlessness; she’d promised them a whole weekend at their sister’s new house only for them all to be trapped inside by terrible weather. With the rain beating at the windows like it had some personal wish to come inside, what were a ten and eight year old to do? They’d exhausted her movie collection. They’d half ruined any board games that had survived her childhood. Her roommate was out of town, so there’d gone any hope of distracting them with a new face. _Go find a book_ , she’d told them at last. _I’ll read to you._ This had seemed a wonderful gift to her siblings, who loved to hear Sarah’s dramatic renditions of fantastic tales.

It wouldn’t have been a problem if they hadn’t handed her a dusty red book: _The Labyrinth._ Sarah Williams had solved that horrific puzzle at fifteen and rarely looked back. At twenty-five, she wasn’t afraid of many things. She’d traversed South-East Asia armed with only a backpack and her ability to make friends. She’d refused her father’s offer to pay for the big things in life: college, a car, her rent. She’d survived by working multiple retail jobs until she could beg the local library to hire her. No, Sarah Williams was used to facing the unknown head on. But reading this particular story to her siblings meant reawakening its ideologies, instilling its quick-fix promises in their young minds.

“Where did you find this?” she asked quietly. A simple enough question, yet the children fell tellingly silent. Sarah knew them well by now. At ten years old Toby was a bright boy with a wild enthusiasm that could only be bridled by his older sister. He liked things loud and fast and would only contain his manic energy for Sarah. Alice on the other hand had not benefitted from Sarah’s positive influence since she’d moved out of home at twenty. Karen’s notions of parenting involved spending money rather than time on her children. It was more difficult to root out the spoilt-child qualities when she couldn’t be around her sister all the time. Alice was mischievous. She was unkempt and overbearing and thought everything belonged to her, which was why Sarah skipped over Toby and let her accusing gaze fall on the girl’s blushing face. “Well?” she said, louder.

Toby elbowed Alice and she mumbled something.  “I found it under your bed,” she repeated upon Sarah’s stern request.

“Under my bed…hmm…” Sarah tapped her chin in mock thoughtfulness. “But that would mean you were in my room!” she exclaimed. “And going through my belongings like a little snoop –”

“Please Sarah,” Toby interrupted. His wide blue eyes beseeched her. “I told her not to do it but she wouldn’t listen. But we’ll be good if you read the story to us. Please?”

How could she deny him? He was so well behaved for her. Alice was the one who had yet to learn. “I’ll read it,” she said finally. “But!” she interrupted their sudden cheer. “You have to _promise_ me you won’t go snooping through my things again. Got that Alice? When you’re in my home, you behave yourself.”

Alice nodded, suitably abashed. For now at least. She wasn’t prone to keeping promises very long. Steeling herself, Sarah gave a small wink to Toby and gathered them up on the lounge. Outside the rain lashed harder than ever, joined by momentous cracks of lightning that set the perfect mood. Sarah took a breath, told herself there was nothing to be worried about, and began to read.

 

* * *

 

Toby and Alice had fallen asleep, and now Sarah was dreaming too. She dreamt of bars, of a cage in the dark with a shadowed figure hunched within. Nothing seemed to exist in the world save for this cage and its trembling contents. She observed from a distance as another hooded shape stepped into view, peering into the depths behind the bars.

“Please,” whispered the figure from its huddled position. The voice was devoid of any emotion, any recognisable quality. It could have been female or male, she couldn’t tell.

“Please what?” said the shape on the outside in a voice equally empty.

“Let me out. Release me.”

“I can’t.”

“But you know what they will do to me.”

 “I…I never meant for this to happen.”  

 Sarah strained to listen. That last sentence…the shape on the outside was becoming recognisable. The voice had begun to break with emotion.

“Didn’t you? Isn’t this what you wanted from the very beginning?”

One shape was suddenly illuminated by stark light, and Sarah found herself watching herself step closer, press a cheek against the bars.

“Let me out.” The voice in the cage had suddenly become demanding and startlingly familiar. Sarah found she had taken over the role of her dream self; she now stared forlornly into the cage. Another flash of light struck, the huddled shape rushed forward and seized her through the bars. She cried out in terror at the rage of the Goblin King. His ragged hair partly obscured his mismatched eyes glittering with fury. His teeth were bared in a sharp snarl, his gloved hand tight on her throat. “ _Let me out Sarah_ ,” he spat violently. “Let me out and I will rule you. I will love you, I will destroy you; I will be your slave! Just as you want!”

She couldn’t breathe, she was gasping for air; she tugged uselessly at his hand on her neck – and then there was nothing.

No King, no cage, no pain. Sarah lay on a hard surface, one hand clutching at her throat as if she could still feel that awful grip. This happened sometimes, elements from the Underground bleeding into her dreams. When it did she related it to the fact that she hadn’t heard from her strange old friends there in ten years, and dismissed it. Taking a steadying breath, Sarah was grateful that at least she was out of _that_ particularly nasty dream.

Now, though…she had the odd sensation that she was awake, but that was impossible. She stared wild eyed at her new surroundings. The floors were gleaming marble but every other inch of wall was draped in delicate vines and blooming with brilliant hued flowers. She’d never seen such colour and vibrancy. The air was thick with musky fragrance, sweet but somehow unnerving in its intensity. Sarah covered her mouth, finding it difficult to breathe, and stepped toward a vibrant orange bloom. Tickling its petals, her hand came away damp with dew. She felt a deeper sense of self-awareness here, a thick _reality_ sort of feeling, but again dismissed it.

“I wouldn’t do that, Miss,” said an anxious voice behind her. She’d reached out to touch a glowing white flower but jumped in fright at the voice. “Sorry, it’s just that…those ones would be poisonous to someone like you.”

The young man before her was startlingly thin and somewhat, well, green. His nose was long and pointed, his ears curved into sharp tips, and when he smiled she noticed a delicate set of dangerous teeth. Yet his smile was kind and she felt inclined to return it, however warily.

 “It’s all right, I’m just dreaming,” she told him. “Nothing can hurt me.”

The creature – for he could hardly be human – shook his head and bit his bottom lip. “No no, you misunderstand. You _were_ dreaming, before. But now you aren’t. Now you’re – well. Here. In the Domain. So you could very well die if you touched that flower.”

Sarah frowned. “The Domain? What’s that?”

“The Fae Domain,” he replied. “The Dream Reality. The Reality Below. We have a few names.” Something seemed to make him suddenly very anxious. He shook himself, taking a few quick steps towards her. “But there’s no time for that. Her Majesty is waiting, she’ll be furious with me if we don’t hurry up. Quickly, please follow me.”

Sarah made a small noise of protest as he snatched her wrist in his delicate fingers and tugged her down the hall with surprising strength. “Did you say the Majesty?” she asked distractedly, still not in disbelief of it all. She gazed up at the beautiful hallway as they hurried through it.

“Yes Miss, the Fae Queen. She has summoned you, and I’m to bring you to her court.”

The way he said that made her nervous. There was definite reverence in his voice. And more than a hint of fear. “Um, okay…” she replied, deciding it was easier to go along with this than to resist. She hadn’t had such a vivid dream in years. “What’s your name?”

“Wick, Miss.”

“And…and what are you? If that’s not a rude question.”

“No bother. I’m an Elf, Miss.”

“An Elf!” she exclaimed in delight. She’d always pictured elves to be more graceful, reserved...less green. Lacan looked like something a child had drawn, all leafy and hopping about like a nervous frog. “Well, Wick, you can just call me Sarah you know.”

“Oh no I mustn’t Miss, it’s not proper. Until we reach the court you are my honoured charge.” He lowered his voice. “Even if you are human.”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Forgive me, Miss.” She thought he might have been blushing, but it was hard to tell as they hurried along. “My two selves haven’t quite untangled themselves yet.”

She didn’t understand that, but before she could say so they reached a wide archway blooming with a curtain of beautiful violets. Wick released her and took a steadying breath.

“Be respectful,” he urged her in a whisper before sweeping the curtain aside and stepping through. “Your Majesty,” she heard him call. “I present you with Miss Sarah Williams, of the Above.”

“Oh, what the hell,” Sarah murmured, taking a gracious step into the next room. She’d been in worse dreams than this; it couldn’t hurt to play along.

The court was an ethereal continuation of the hallway’s beauty. Everywhere she looked were more and more flowers, vines, blooming plants, glittering spider webs like polished ivory. The thick undergrowth muffled her steps on the white marble floor. Again, the air in the room was almost stifling in its fragrance.

“Come forward, child.”

Sarah hadn’t noticed the woman in the chair at the very front of the room; she’d been too intent on the sight before her. Now she jumped a little at the severity of the voice and hurried towards it. This was clearly the Queen. She sat stiff backed on a marble throne carved with roses, delicate bare feet crossed at the ankles. Her dress was long and fit as if a spider had spun gold around her form. She was almost what Sarah had thought elves were meant to look like yet she was too severe to be beautiful, with her elegant but frosty appearance. Something about the delicate mask-like markings across her face and those sharp features was unsettling in its familiarity.

“Um, hello, your Majesty,” Sarah performed a half-hearted curtsy, feeling foolish paying respects to a dream.

“You would mock me already?” the Queen said stonily.

“What? No, I just – this isn’t real. You aren’t real.”

Abruptly the Queen thrust out a hand towards her and Sarah suddenly found herself being forced to her knees by an invisible force, her legs aching with some unknown strain. She hissed in pain. Dreams weren’t meant to _hurt_.

“Sarah Williams, you have been brought to me because your assistance is required. Tell me, what do you remember of the Underground?”

Eyes widening, Sarah gritted her teeth. “All of it. The Labyrinth, the goblins, the King –” she gasped. Now she could see who the Queen reminded her of, and her vivid dream suddenly made a horrible kind of sense. “I’m not – this is real, isn’t it? All of it?”

“Very much so,” replied the woman. “I am Queen Mira El’Maven of the Fae Domain, and you will show all due respect or face a very real pain. I do not tolerate ignorance in my court.”

 “I – I’m sorry,” Sarah said hastily, finding herself released from her position on the floor. “I didn’t know.” Yet it was difficult to feel a real sense of meekness. The woman was painfully commanding. Still, it was obviously a bad idea to offend her. She swept low in a proper curtsy. “Can we start fresh, your Majesty?”

“An interesting choice of words,” she replied, “Given my intentions. Fresh starts are indeed what I am seeking.”

Sarah didn’t know what to say to that. But a thought suddenly occurred to her. “I’m babysitting,” she blurted out before thinking.

“I beg your pardon?”

“My little brother and sister. They’re at my place, and if I’m here – well – I can’t leave them alone for too long. They’re really uh…energetic. In a destructive sort of way.”

The Queen seemed to be studying her very intently. She felt a definite kind of prickle under that heavy gaze and thought she was about to be yelled at. “You are not what I was expecting,” the woman said instead. “Would you care to learn why it is that I have brought you here? If that’s not too much time taken out of your precious human hands?”

Oh, Sarah was definitely getting a vibe about this woman. The arrogance, the look, the superiority...she was just like –

“The Underground is only a small realm in the Fae Domain,” the Queen said, interrupting her line of thought. “It is host to mostly simple beings, dull commoners…and many a vile creature. Specifically, it hosts the Labyrinth and the goblins.”

Sarah lifted her chin in annoyed defiance. “I remember. I made a few friends while I was there; they were very good to me.” She met the queen’s eye pointedly, irritated at having her friends dismissed as simpletons.

“And what did you make of the Goblin King?” she replied, ignoring Sarah’s jibe.

“That he’s the arrogant, bored king of a dirty old maze and he used me for entertainment.”

The Queen frowned deeply. “Oh? Were you not frightened of him? Cowed?”

Sarah rubbed at her arm uncomfortably. She’d been young then, imaginative. He’d seemed to play out her fantasies pretty well, until she’d realised her brother’s life was more important. “At times, yeah. But mostly I just kept thinking that I had to get my brother back, so it didn’t matter what I thought of him.”

This seemed to concern her. “This is what I’m talking about…” she muttered. “A lack of respect. He cannot hope to remain in control if this sort of discord is spreading through the realm.”

Sarah heard all this, but it didn’t seem like it was meant as something for her to comment on.  Left to her own thoughts, she’d started connecting the dots. “He’s one of you, isn’t he?”

The Queen remembered Sarah was there. “Excuse me?”

“The Goblin King. I mean it makes sense, that he’s part of some other world, I never thought about it before. And you’re so much alike. He’s…he’s a Fae, right? Like you?”

“Indeed he is, but it seems he has forgotten himself.”

This comment came with a particular nasty look at Sarah, who felt it unwarranted and had to force herself to remain calm. She was liking the Queen less and less with each minute. “Look, with all due respect, what’s going on?” she asked, not quite succeeding in keeping the exasperation from her voice. “Why am I here?”

“You are here,” she paused to emphasise the contempt in those words, “Because my son is suspected of violating a very sacred, very old Fae law, and I require proof.”

Sarah blinked. What part of that sentence was she meant to focus on first? “Your…your _son_? He’s…his mother is the queen of a whole fairy world?”

“The _Fae Domain_ ,” the Queen replied angrily, “Is far above and beyond any foolishly simplistic notions of human fairy tales. You would do well to remember that. Our kind does not take ignorance lightly.” She smoothed a hand down her dress, calming herself, and continued on. “It matters not who he is in relation to me. What matters is that I have been compiling evidence to support the claim and require a final piece of absolute proof. Proof that _you_ , Sarah Williams, are capable of acquiring for me.”

Sarah held up a hand, trying to think. This was getting ridiculous. “Hold on, _who’s_ been making all these allegations against him?”

“ _I_ have.”

“But you’re his mother!” she cried.

“I am the Queen of the Fae,” replied the woman coldly, “And Jareth has put the people of my realm in great danger. He will be investigated, and you will secure a testimony from him, and he will be abdicated from power in order to preserve the natural order of our way of life.”

“What are you _talking_ about?”

 “I’m talking about the goblins, Miss Williams. Jareth is losing his power over them. He has tainted the Labyrinth Throne, and we require fresh blood. The goblins are no longer under the greatest possible control, which is a danger we cannot abide. A new King must be instated and my son stripped from his position.”

Sarah began to pace, agitated. “But the goblins I remember weren’t that bad…” she told the Queen. “They were scary to a teenager, sure…but they weren’t exactly horrors from hell. What’s so bad about them?”

“The creatures encountered in the Labyrinth in your day were a softer species,” the Queen explained. “The ones formed from human children. In those days, it was enough to deter runners from solving the maze. But no longer. The Goblin King has grown sloppy and the dominant purebreds have sensed this, taken advantage, and wiped out their weaker relations.”

Sarah felt sick. “So there are _real_ monsters running around in the Labyrinth now? And in the city?”

“Creatures you cannot begin to imagine. The monsters of human nightmares pale in comparison to the hordes we have kept at bay for millennia.” There was almost, _almost,_ a hint of something not quite brave in that voice. “That is, until you ran the Labyrinth and defeated my son. Which is why you will help us.”

“What did I do? And…why now? It’s been ten years! What’s taken you so long?”

“It has been ten years for _you_ , Miss Williams. For us, it has been little over two. Nothing but the blink of an eye to the Fae.”

“What?”

“To put it simply: different realities, different time flows. We are immortals; our lives stretch like vines alongside the stumps of your existence. We must diffuse the power of your reality’s dreams in order to make them last.”

Sarah stopped listening, not only because she had no idea what the woman was talking about but because this was suddenly starting to feel a little claustrophobic. The Queen’s demanding voice, her cold cold eyes, the cloying scent of the dark musty jungle room: she started to panic. 

“No,” she said forcefully.

The Queen’s mouth twitched. “No?”

“No, I won’t do it. I can’t deal with this. I’m an adult now! I have a job, I’m – I’m – I’m writing a book, I’m thinking about asking out this guy at the music store…I have a brother and a sister and a _life_ , your _Majesty_ , and I’m not going to risk it all just so you can dish out some weird fairy justice on the Goblin King!” Sarah quietened, realising she had just shouted at a very powerful royal. The air was thick around them and suddenly chilly for the look she received.

“ _Fae_ Justice,” the Queen stated coldly, “Is not something to converse lightly about. The Goblin King must be reprimanded. He has violated the most ancient laws of our kind. And you _will_ help us to secure his testimony.”

“No I won’t _,_ ” she repeated. “You can’t make me. This has nothing to do with my world.” She thought the Queen’s eyes were cold before, but now they made her think of icicles dripping in her own blood.

“Very well.” She stood and made a small gesture with her hands, conjuring a large rectangular mirror before them. “Elf!”

The sound of footsteps came scurrying towards them. Wick arrived silently, mouth firmly pressed shut in a frown.

“Collect the children,” the Queen told him. He ignored Sarah’s cry of horror and stepped into the mirror, returning moments later with a screaming Toby and Alice in tow, holding on gently but firmly with his strong grip.

Sarah cried out again at the terror on their faces. “What are –?”

“You _will_ assist us in this endeavour _,”_ The Queen said. “Or your siblings will be taken.”

Tears of hot rage swelled in Sarah’s eyes. “You can’t.”

“I will do what I must,” she replied firmly. “Your services are _required_ , Sarah Williams. Do not make me say it again.”

Sarah groaned loudly. “Are you _all_ like this? Snivelling sneaky monsters out to take children away?!” She couldn’t tear her gaze from her siblings. Toby was shivering, clutching a bawling Alice with one hand and beseeching Sarah with his eyes. “What’s going on?” he sobbed.

“I’m sorry I went through your stuff!” Alice cried hysterically, “I’m sorry Sarah!”

Her heart ached. She glared at the Queen. “You can’t take them, I didn’t wish them away!”

“ _Wishes_ are more my son’s area,” she said disdainfully. “I care not for the laments of ungrateful humans, and I do not require your silly little _wishes_ to take what I need.”

“What do you _want_ from me?” Sarah asked helplessly. “What the hell do you want?”

“A confession. I want you to trick your brother into wishing away his sister, and when Jareth comes to claim her, I want you to beg to be taken in their stead. You will stay with him, and you will become his confidant, and he will tell you everything we need to know.”

“That’s _insane_!” Sarah shouted. “He won’t fall for that! What if he just takes them? Why would he want me?”

“If my suspicions are correct, I doubt he will reject the offer,” said the Queen with a nasty look on her face, as if her words made some disgusting kind of sense. “It has never been done before, nor should it ever be. The wished away must be earned back by runners, not bargained for like trinkets. But if he accepts your proposal, it will be one more link to the crime he is guilty of.”

She had no choice, as always with these people. She never had any _choice_.  “Fine, I’ll do it. Just let them go. Now.”

The Queen nodded at Wick, who seemed relieved to be able to direct Toby and Alice back into the mirror wordlessly. They huddled against the glass on their side, calling for their sister.

Sarah refused to cry in front of this horrible woman. She blinked furiously to rid herself of tears and stood at the mirror, placing her hands against Toby’s. She forced a smile. “I’ll be back,” she told them, though they couldn’t hear. Toby’s lip quivered and he hugged Alice to him tightly. “I’ll be back,” she whispered, tracing a hand from her eye, to her heart, and back to Toby’s reflection: _I love you_. He did the same. The mirror turned black, leaving her stranded in the presence of nothing familiar. She continued to look into the black glass. “Can you make them forget this?” she asked quietly, pressing a hand against the mirror. “Wipe their memory? I don’t want them to be scared.”

“It will be done.”

Sarah nodded, but would not thank the woman. “I’m starting to see where your son gets it all,” she said bitterly, and with a shake of her head she met the Fae Queen’s brutal gaze with determination. “What was his great _crime_ , exactly? What does he have to confess to?”

The day had been long and horribly surprising, but nothing could have prepared her for the response:

“My son is in love with you, Sarah Williams.”

 


	3. Betrayals and Bargains

**Betrayals and Bargains**

 

Sarah left the red book by Toby’s hand, open on the page about wishing people away. His gold hair was soft as feathers under her gentle touch; he snuffled in his peaceful sleep.

“I need you to do something for me,” she whispered into his ear. “I need you to wish Alice away. Can you do that for me? You don’t have to mean it. In fact, I know you _won’t_ mean it. But it’s the only way I can keep you both safe.” She planted a soft kiss against his forehead and tiptoed out of the room. She held back another sob of anguish, silently cursing the Fae world and all who lived in it.

_“I don’t understand. He can’t **love** me. He doesn’t even know me!”_

_"Doesn’t he?” the queen replied sarcastically. “He has kept watch over you for years, Sarah, before you ever entered our world. I have surveyed him these two years gone. He is reckless with his life; he is anxious and forlorn. He flies between our two realities to catch mere glimpses of you, abandoning his throne in the process. He is distracted from his leadership by his sheer **fascination** with you, though I can’t say I understand it myself.”_

Her house seemed so blessedly normal in the aftermath of that wild afternoon. The rain had eased off, leaving the world grey and chilled. The carpet felt wonderfully soft under her feet after all that cold marble. She padded silently throughout the rooms, searching for the one thing of Toby’s she knew he treasured most: a comic book, of all things. It was a Spider-Man story she’d found at a market for a quarter, nothing special. But it had sparked a superhero obsession that was still growing with every year. With Karen’s help, Toby had a pretty decent collection of books and memorabilia but what he took everywhere was that crumpled Super-Man issue. Sarah almost prayed she wouldn’t find it, already dreading the look on his face when he found it. How had her life become this complicated by being loved?

_“But why is love a crime? I don’t understand what he’s done wrong.”_

_“Love itself is not a crime but a distraction. **Who** is the recipient of this interest is what matters.”                _

_Sarah splayed her hands on her hips, offended. “What’s wrong with me?”_

_"You are human,” she replied simply. Disdainfully. “Our laws are as immortal as us: they have not changed since the Birth of All Things, nor will they ever. The limitations placed over the Fae are there specifically to prevent disaster. We are the sole race responsible for the continued existence of this entire reality. We may fall in love, however uncommon it is, but only with our own kind. **Never** with another. Never with humans.”_

_Sarah snorted. “You’re talking like we’re diseased.”_

_"You **are** ,” the Queen replied bluntly. “You cripple so easily, you bow under the slightest weight of injury. Time itself is your disease, for you have so little of it. It is an ancient violation for my son to love one so far beneath us, so simple in relation to the complexity that is our domain.”_

_“I’m not **simple**!” Sarah huffed. “And I still don’t believe that he **loves** me. If anything, it’s some kind of weird obsession that he needs to get over. And I’m not sleeping with him, if you think that’s what’s going to happen!” Sarah folded her arms; she could just imagine the types of things the Queen would have her do in order to get the job done._

_“You will remain with him until he confesses,” was all the Queen would say._

Sarah had sometimes dreamed of the Goblin King. Throughout her teenage years, mostly, when the right boys hadn’t yet caught her eye. She’d imagined what he was doing and what they might have been doing together if she’d accepted his offer. They’d only ever been flights of fancy, of course, the desperate youthful need for gratification when she was searching through her newfound sexuality. She had never expected to see him again. When she’d hit her twenties and started meeting the right boys, she’d been okay with letting go of a fairy tale. It had been easier than she’d thought, especially since her other ‘friends’ hadn’t thought to visit her, even once. When she ended up back in the Underground she was going to find them and ask just what the hell had happened.

Something stirred with the breeze from the window and Sarah’s heart plummeted. She’d found the comic. Picking it up, she smoothed the cover under her hand. They’d been through so much, her and Toby. They’d been thrown together like jagged puzzle pieces and had managed to find a way to fit. Alice would join them just as snuggly soon enough, she knew, once the girl had learnt more from her brother. It dawned on her that she might not see them again for a while, once everything began. She started to cry then, just a little, her heart tearing along the seams just like the comic in her fists as she paved the way for her betrayal, the only way she could save them both.

 

* * *

Toby had had the strangest dream, he was sure…but the more he tried to remember the more it faded from his grasp. Yawning, he rolled onto his side, vaguely aware of crumpling something beneath him. Maybe the dream would come back if he ignored it, the way the mouse in his room sometimes did when he pretended he hadn’t seen it. His mum would freak out if she knew he had a secret mouse, he thought with a sleepy smile. The thing squashed beneath him was getting hard to ignore as it dug into his rib. With a groan Toby wrenched it out from under him, frowning at the sight of his sister’s book. _Oh no,_ he thought, _if I bent it she’s going to kill me!_ He examined the pages but found them to be okay, except for one page which was bent in half. He unfolded it, scanning the room for Sarah, but saw no-one. The page was fine, just a little folded. He squinted in the late afternoon light, trying to read it. It was his favourite part! The creepy part about the sister wishing away her brother, and the nasty goblins that came to take him. Toby had always been especially creeped out by that bit, but curious too. How cool would it be to be able to call the goblins whenever you wanted?

Deciding the page wasn’t hurt enough to get him in trouble, Toby set it down on the coffee table and sat up, scrubbing his face. His mind was full of half-forgotten dreams and strange creatures, mirrors with no reflections…it took him a moment to notice the colourful pile of paper scattered across the living room floor, near the beanbag where his little sister lay. What trouble had she been up to now? Alice had been a pain lately, especially because he wanted to be good for Sarah when they visited. He squinted at the mess, finding something familiar in the blue and red colours.

“What…?” he mumbled, getting to his feet to inspect the papers more closely. And as he realised what they were, he started to shout.

 

* * *

 

 

Sarah tucked her knees up to her chest and shoved her fingers in her ears as the yelling started. She couldn’t bear to hear them fighting, not when they’d been tricked into it. Hiding under the kitchen counter she took deep breaths, hoping against hope Toby would say the right words but shivering with the fear of what would happen if he did. The muffled shouting was suddenly drowned in a scream as lightning split the sky outside and the power went out.   _Oh god,_ she thought, swallowing hard. _Here we go_. She ran from her hiding place, feeling her way in the relative dark, to find what she’d expected: a frantic Toby hugging Alice to him in one hand with a fistful of his beloved comic in the other. _Oh, **god**. _ She ran to them as the rain started again, lashing the windows and spraying them with its strength.

“What did you do?!” she cried, a well-rehearsed line, but her trembling was real.

“I didn’t mean it!” Toby cried, as the shadows began to ripple around them and the lightning strikes came in quick succession. “I didn’t mean it, I swear! I’m _sorry_ , Alice!”

“Sarah what’s happening?!” Alice screamed. “I’m scared, I’m so scared!”

“It’s all right, it’s all right,” Sarah hushed them both as they clung to her waist. She held them tightly with both hands, terrified that the goblins would snatch them away before she had a chance to do anything. “It’s all right, I’ve got you; they won’t take you away from me. They won’t.” Her knees shook. _I don’t think I can do this_ , she thought for one horrific moment as the shadows grew eyes and started to growl. “They won’t take you.”

“Won’t we, Sarah?”

The lightning stopped. The rain hushed. The shadows trembled with anticipation. Sarah turned around and looked into the face of the Goblin King. He hadn’t changed one bit. Resplendent in his terrible crimson attire, he looked like an angel of doom with his rippling cape like wings torn to shreds. She found the strength to answer him. “No,” she told him firmly. “You’re not going to take them.” He smirked at her and an arched a brow, but his eyes were bleak and cruel, hardly amused. What if the Queen was wrong? What if he was nothing more than just the bad guy? Either way she was in trouble: a villain or an admirer, there was no positive way to gain the Goblin King’s attention.

“ _Delightful_ to see you again, Sarah,” he drawled. “Do tell me what I’m to do next, won’t you? I’ve only have two hundred years of practice.”

It wasn’t difficult for Sarah to act desperate. “Please don’t touch them,” she let out in a rush of air. Something crept towards them from the shadow, enough that she could spot the outline of claws and spikes. She squeezed her brother and sister so tightly that they cried out in pain. “He didn’t mean it. Please, I’ll do anything. I’ll – I’ll give you anything. Just leave them alone.”

He threw out a hand and the shadow stopped advancing on her. “Are you presuming to _barter_ with me? Under the impression you have something that I want?”

It was so difficult to read his expression when she was really, properly scared of the outcome if she was wrong. Was this going to work? “Yes,” she stammered. “I want to trade for their freedom.”

He moved close enough that she had to crane her head back to meet his scrutinising gaze. “How charming, Sarah Williams, that you think you can bargain with the King of the Goblins.” His voice was low and careful. She almost thought that he was listening for the sound of his horde creeping closer. “Not so eager to jump into my Labyrinth this time? A shame. It’s a lot more fun these days.”

Beneath her, Toby and Alice whimpered. Around her, the monsters groaned in agitation. She began to hear things, words hissed in ugly voices: _want to tear, want to rip, drip drip drip their blood_ …her eyes widened in silent terror as she held the King’s gaze, tears of panic threatening to spill over. “Please,” she whispered fervently. “Please. You can have me. Leave them both and I’ll come with you to the Underground. No one has to fight for my freedom, I don’t want it. Give it to them.”

Something like surprise flitted across his face for the briefest of moments. Then a gnarled hand reached out and snatched at Alice’s foot and the Williams family screamed as one.

“ _Enough!_ ” the King roared at his monsters, fury blazing in his eyes. “That is enough! You will get what you are given, _when it is given to you_!”

There was silence once more in the shadows. Alice moaned and Sarah kissed the top of her head, her shaking hands buried in golden curls. She looked up once more at the man with the power to stop it all and found his face infuriatingly blank. Despite herself, she felt a flash of anger. Why was he dragging it out like this? “Well?” she heard herself demand. “Do you want me or not?”

He chuckled. “ _That_ is a very loaded question. Always such fire, Sarah.” He glanced down at Toby and Alice, at the shadows around them. “You never fail to entertain,” he said quietly. Then, louder: “Very well. You will accompany me in their place, and they shall be left alone. Do we have a deal?”

Sarah took his outstretched hand. “Deal,” she said resolutely.

He clamped his free hand around her arm and her world erupted. She heard goblins screaming in rage, Toby and Alice calling her name desperately. She felt a hard tug in the middle of her navel, blinked, and everything had stopped. There was no dark living room, no crying siblings, and no threats in the corners of her eyes. There was a gloved hand on her arm and a rough stone floor as she sank to her knees. There was the smell of dust and dirt and a shadow over Sarah as the Goblin King stared down at her in something like disbelief. “You – you didn’t let me say goodbye,” she murmured, pressing fists to her heart with the ache of it all. “You didn’t let me say goodbye.” The shadow disappeared, and Sarah curled into a ball and wept.

 


	4. The Broken Castle

**The Broken Castle**

 

Jareth nursed a stiff drink in bitter reverie, shocked and agitated at the turn of events. He slouched further into his throne, resting one leg over the other and tossing a glare in the direction of his only company.

“Why does winning seem like losing with that woman?” he grumbled. “For both of us! Was I not good to her? Was I not kind, taking her offer instead of leaving her siblings to the horde? We’ve both won, yet she cries like a captive and I – I …”

“You drink like a fish so you won’t feel no more guilt.”

Jareth blinked and stared at his servant, who immediately realised he’d overstepped and hunkered into himself. “Bold words for a Dwarf-turned-Goblin servant, Higgle,” he remarked dryly. “Don’t bother correcting me, I know your name.” He sniffed. “I just prefer to keep you in your place.” He finished his drink and conjured another, pointing the glass at the creature that used to be Hoggle. “No, _I’ll_ tell you why she’s taken the fun out of it,” he said, sitting up a little. “She forced my hand. That’s what it is.” He’d been incredibly patient, nursing his wounded heart for months on end while he peeked in on Sarah and waited for her to grow up. He’d bit his tongue in silence as she’d made bad decisions as a teenager, had shook his head at the myriad of foolish _boys_ she’d flutter over. Her exploration into the adult world of sex had nearly driven him mad with envy but he’d endured it all in the knowledge that one day she’d be ready for him, under careful guidance. “What was I supposed to do, take her sister and force her brother to run the Labyrinth as it is now? She’d never have forgiven me.” _Is that worse than what the goblins now think of you, having taken away their rightful prize?_ The thought answered itself without hesitation. _Yes._ He lowered his voice, downed the whole drink in one go and threw the glass away. It vanished before it could shatter on the stone. “No, this is _her_ doing. She changed the game and now she doesn’t want to live with the consequences.”

“Can yer blame her?” Hoggle grumbled.

“I think I liked you better as a coward,” Jareth remarked shrewdly. “You’ve grown far too confident in that new form of yours.”

“By all means, Sire, put me right again and I won’t have nothin’ to say about nothin’ no more.”

This wrung a laugh from the King, dashing any hope Hoggle might have felt.

 

* * *

 

She was hungry. No, she was _starving._ And she felt terrible, heavy and hazy-minded and alone. Sarah had slept all afternoon in a fit of exhaustion following an anxiety attack. When she’d finally stopped crying she’d noticed her surroundings were obviously meant to be her new bedroom. The room was red and grey, stone and velvet working together to give the impression of comfort in a place of great power. The bed was a large mahogany monstrosity, making her feel tiny in its depths. There was only one small round window. The realisation had sent her into a panic. _What if this has all been some elaborate scheme just to get me here? What if I’m trapped here forever and the Queen has no intention of sending me home?_

Now that she was awake again she chased away those thoughts. “They’re not going to help you Sarah,” she whispered to herself. “The only one who can help you is yourself.” Blinking wearily, her stomach growled and she curled into her side. She felt withered and dirty. “Starting with some food and a shower.” Her torn jeans and loose flannel shirt, perfect for lazy babysitting, seemed a thousand years old and no longer comfortable. Climbing down from her monster of a bed she edged over to the window and pulled back the crimson curtain. She suspected it was early in the morning from the way the sky was just starting to lighten from its inky blue. Below her was a neglected garden, dry and brown and littered with dying plants. The sight made her unhappy so she looked back to the sky, searching for stars. There were none, only strange colours shifting like oil on water every now and then. “So this is it, huh? This is my life now.” She sniffed back fresh tears, knowing how puffy-eyed and red she must be already. “Come on now Sarah, it’s not forever.” She patted her demanding stomach and headed for the door, for a brief moment worrying it might be locked. But no, she was a willing participant in all this. Surely that granted her a little freedom. She peeked out into a deserted stone hallway. As soon as her body was out the door the hall was flooded with soft light, illuminating her way.

Feeling vulnerable in the sudden brightness Sarah blinked rapidly, pressing herself against the wall and peering either way. After all, this was the Goblin King’s castle – _when are you going to learn to just say his name, Sarah? Have to do it sometime –_ who knew what horrors were lurking inside? Picking a random direction she tiptoed along, barely breathing as the light followed her through the castle. She found herself almost wishing that one of the goblins of her old days would appear. At least she knew she could handle those ones. _“The ones formed from human children,”_ said a voice in the back of her memory. Toby had almost become one of them, Sarah remembered with a shiver, drawing her arms around herself. _And now they’re all dead._

She crossed a flight of stairs that took her down a level and ended up on a landing, overlooking what she recognised as the entrance hall. It was so _silent_. There was nobody anywhere, no creatures or shadows or sounds of any kind. _Where is everyone? Shouldn’t I have some kind of tour guide or something?_ She took a few steps down the landing when she realised that the front door led outside. And outside led to the gates of the Goblin City. And the Goblin City was definitely _not_ somewhere she wanted to end up. Scurrying back up the stairs, she leaned against the wall and waited for her heart to stop pounding.

“What are you doing here, Sarah?” she whispered to herself. “What are you _doing?_ ” The hairs on the back of her neck prickled with the feeling of being watched. Numbly she rubbed at them, scanning the landing for a source.

She screamed at what she found staring at her from the bottom of the stairs. It was a _huge_ goblin, bigger than she’d ever seen, with ruddy red skin and straggly hair and two very sharp fangs hanging over its bottom lip. It watched her intently with small beady eyes set deep into a large, squashed head. In the time it took Sarah to process all this, the goblin had already ascended half the stairs and was shuffling straight towards her. She stared back in horror, unsure of what to do. If she tried to run it would surely give chase, and where would she go?

“That’s enough!” she shouted in sheer panic, watching helplessly as it reached the landing. “I said stop there!”

Its deformed ears pricked towards her, listening, but it did not slow down. “Now – now you listen to me,” Sarah continued, the authority in her voice betrayed by her body as it pressed desperately back into the wall. “This is my castle too now, have you got that? I’m living here and I have every right to be here just as much as you.” The goblin stood towering over her in total silence. The smell was overpowering – like freshly tanned leather and sweat. “You and I are going to have to get along, as I’m sure the King won’t tolerate any fighting –” her false bravado faded in a soft scream of fright when one gnarled hand the size of her head reached out –

And stroked her cheek.

Sarah’s eyes were shut tight but they widened at the surprisingly gentle touch. It was oddly sweet, the way its fingers grazed across her cheek and settled there. Nearly choking on the smell, she looked up into those eyes and saw a vaguely familiar kindness. “Do – do I _know_ you?” she asked with a frown, studying the goblin that towered over her and feeling her panic ebb away. He – it seemed like a male, she’d decided – took his hand away and she swore there was a smile on that unfortunate face. “I’ve never met a goblin like you before, but…” she pondered as he stepped back, allowing her room to breathe again. “Well then. I take it you’re not going to hurt me?” There was definitely a smile in there under all those big teeth and wide lips. “Good. Then can you help me find something to eat? I’m starving.”

                  With an excited little grunt he gestured for Sarah to follow and they made their way through the castle.  He wasn’t a quick creature, being so big with such stubby legs. Sarah’s stomach complained about the slow pace but she ignored it, trying to get a word out of her new companion. She didn’t remember any goblin that was able to keep its mouth shut for more than a few seconds. “Are there others like you?” she asked, but he just gave that oddly endearing smile again in answer. “I thought there were only the really horrible goblins left. Were you here when the fights went on?” His ears drooped and he swung his big head around to look at her, fear in his eyes. “So that’s a yes then,” she said gently, plucking at a loose thread on her rolled up sleeve. “I’m so glad you’re friendly; I was really freaked out you were going to be one of them…I can’t believe I was ever afraid of those other little guys. They were nothing compared to what I saw yesterday – I’m sorry. You probably don’t want all that nasty stuff brought up, do you?” She patted his fuzzy shoulder and they continued on.  “We’ve all got nasty stuff we don’t want to think about. I get it.”

Eventually they arrived outside a dining room that looked like it had it seen battle. The wide bay window was smeared with dust, letting in what little pale morning light there was. It created a ghostly pallor over the heavy wooden furniture scattered around the room at random. The table was pushed to one side, presumably to keep it balanced as one carved leg seemed about ready to snap. The chairs, what were left of them, bore deep scratches and missing appendages like soldiers. There was a painting on the wall but she couldn’t have guessed what it had once been, as the canvas had been torn to shreds and the frame was half hanging to the floor.

“Not much of a way to receive guests,” Sarah commented. Her goblin friend picked up one of the heavy chairs with ease, dusted it off, and set it at one end of the table. He gestured for her to sit down and then disappeared into a side room once she did. “What the hell happened here?” she asked when he came back carrying a plate awkwardly in his dumpy arms. He set it on the table and then took a spot on the floor beside her. His height ensured he was still at least eye level with her. “Uh, thanks…” she frowned at the offering before her, not entirely sure what it was. Some kind of bread, she guessed, but with the texture of an old potato skin. The goblin gestured encouragingly for her to eat, so she shrugged and tore it up for them to share. It was quite moist yet somehow still tasted like very stale bread. It silenced her moaning stomach but Sarah hoped the cuisine would improve in the future.

They ate in silence for a while, the reality of her situation threatening to sink in again as she surveyed the dismal surroundings. A knot began to wind itself up inside her and she put her food aside, feeling alone despite the company. She felt a weight settle on her knee and smiled sadly at the hand that was reaching over to console her. She placed her own over it, wiping her damp eyes.

“So…” she cleared her throat, tight with tears unshed. “Do you like it here?”

Her friend shrugged one shoulder, his kind eyes turning mellow with a sadness she could understand without words. “I know the feeling,” she replied. “But it’s not like we really have a choice though, right? I mean I don’t know about you, but I’m stuck here until – well, I shouldn’t really talk about that.” She smiled. “Not that you’re going to tell anyone, hey?” She brought her feet up onto the chair and hugged her legs to her chest. “Thank you for the food. Whatever it was.”

“Enjoying your stay, Sarah?”

Her smile vanished at the sound of that voice. Her friend jumped to his feet and bowed his head, but Sarah simply glanced casually over her shoulder at the Goblin King standing in the doorway.

“Actually I have a few complaints,” she told him blandly.

“Oh?” he arched an eyebrow, sweeping into the room. “Enlighten me. I do love feedback.”

“My view stinks, I’m afraid my bed is going to swallow me in my sleep, the food is _unimaginative_ to say the least and your dining room looks like a graveyard where furniture goes to die.” She smiled sweetly. “How’s that for feedback?”

He returned her expression with a mocking bow. “Greatly appreciated. I’ll have the servants beaten for letting their standards fall so low.”

At the goblin’s low moan and Sarah’s cry of outrage he straightened with a smirk. “It was only a joke, precious.”

“Abuse isn’t funny,” she retorted, wondering just how the hell she was supposed to pretend to _fawn_ over someone with such terrible taste. Now that he was closer she could make out the details of his appearance – tired and fairly _ruffled_ , she would call it. “You look terrible.”

He glanced down at his clothes for a moment, fingers itching as if he wanted to tidy himself up. “I had a…difficult night,” he replied, running a hand through his wild hair instead.

“Yeah,” Sarah snorted bitterly. “I know the feeling.”

“Come now Sarah, you’re being rather rude to your host.” He waved his hand and a chair dragged itself over to him, the scuffs and broken legs repairing themselves on the way until he sat down in a brand new seat.

“Forgive me my Lord,” she said sarcastically. “I’m just tired, you know, what with you kidnapping me and everything.”

His eyes sparkled with mirth. Was he enjoying this? “I believe it can hardly be called kidnapping. You did _beg_ me to take you.” The insinuation of his final worlds made her skin prickle. She pulled her flannel shirt tighter around herself, which only drew his attention to her outfit. “What _are_ you wearing, by the way? You look like a vagabond.”

“What? They’re my comfy clothes,” she replied defensively, suddenly aware of every bit of sweat and grime. “If you’d have given me more than five seconds I could have changed.”

“If I’d spent a second longer there my goblins would have ripped your family apart whether I decided to take them or not,” he said so icily that she bit back any other smart comment that might have come to mind. He leaned in close enough that she felt his breath on her tucked up knees. “I am not the one at fault here, Sarah. _Your_ brother wished away your sister. _You_ chose to be here in their place. I have offered you the best possible option when you hadn’t many to begin with. You would do well to remember that.”

Filled with sudden rage because she couldn’t scream the truth in his face, Sarah clenched her jaw and got up from the chair. “I’d like to have a bath now,” she said stonily, feeling dizzy with emotion. She looked to the goblin in a silent plea for him to take her away. He had faded away in the presence of his master, now he seemed to come back to himself and rushed to her side.

The Goblin King regarded her with a strange expression. “So soon? Won’t you join me for breakfast? We’ve so much to catch up on.”

“I’ve already eaten,” Sarah replied, wishing he would just let her go.

“I believe your _friend_ there has no clue where the bathroom is,” he said to her retreating form. “Goblins aren’t prone to bathing.”

She ground her teeth in frustration. “Well then, would you care to show me where they are?” she asked in a forcibly calm voice. “Or would you like me to run around in clothes that smell like goblins? No offence,” she added with a side glance at her friend.

She gasped at the King’s sudden appearance beside her. “Perhaps you should just take them off,” he suggested in an innocent tone that was completely betrayed by a guilty wink. He looped her arm through his. “Shall I give you the tour then, Sarah?” he cast a glance at the goblin, who was eyeing him with the first signs of aggression Sarah had seen in him. “Go,” he told the creature, who sighed and shuffled away. Sarah watched him go helplessly as she was led in the opposite direction.

In the silence that followed she started to feel awkward. Especially as they walked so close together, and he seemed uninterested in saying anything. “What’s his name?” she asked, nodding back toward the goblin’s direction.

That seemed to amuse him, for whatever reason. “Oh, it’s not important,” he waved a dismissive hand. Then, in a lower voice: “You’ve changed so much you know. Yet hardly at all.” He looked at her with that strange expression again.

Sarah was beginning to think it might be something distinctly _wistful._ “Sorry, my shoelace…” she mumbled, excusing herself from his arm to bend down.

“I make you uncomfortable, don’t I Sarah?”

“Hmm?” she muttered distractedly. “Why do you say that?”

“You don’t _have_ laces.”

She blushed furiously into her jeans.

“It’s understandable.”

She blinked up at him. “It is?”

“Of course. I’m very handsome and very powerful and you’ve lusted after me since you were fifteen. Things are bound to be a little tense between us.”

Sarah shot to her feet in indignation. “I haven’t been _lusting_ after you!” she exclaimed. “You do know I’m a grown woman now, right? That I haven’t spent the last _ten years_ mooning after you like some teenager? Don’t flatter yourself, Goblin King.”

He grinned at her. “You rise so easily to the bait, precious,” he replied. “How can you expect me not to cast the line?”

“Stop calling me precious. I’m not a little girl.”

His eyes flashed. “And yet you have yet to offer me a single gracious word, like the spoilt child you have always been.”

Sarah threw her hands in the air. “That’s it. I can’t deal with you right now. You have _no_ idea how I’m feeling, do you? I’ve just lost everything important to me.”

“I know that feeling more than you will ever understand,” he replied in a voice so cold she shivered. “I _live_ that feeling, every single day.”

“Then show me some god damn common decency!” Sarah yelled, unable to help herself.

“I will when you do the same!”

Sarah growled in frustration and stalked away down the hall. “Forget it! I’ll find the bathroom on my own!” she shouted over her shoulder, leaving him seething in her wake.

 

* * *

  

Things were no better the next day. Sarah was beginning to think the Queen had made a huge mistake – there was no way this infuriating Fae was _in love_ with her. They’d only spent two days together and most of that time had been spent bickering. He had finally shown her to the bathroom after she’d wandered the castle for five hours and was close to hysteria. She’d been begrudgingly relieved if not exactly grateful for the help. The bathroom had been closer than expected and contained the most luxurious claw-footed tub she’d ever had the pleasure of bathing in. After soaking away her anger she’d almost been willing to see the amusing side of her predicament, but dinner had changed that:

_“Where’s my friend?” Sarah enquired as they sat together in the newly repaired dining room. She was sitting as far away from him as possible, but if this irked him he didn’t show it. “The goblin I met yesterday before you scared him away. I’d like to see him again.”_

_He wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin and sipped his wine without looking at her. “You’re to have no further contact with him, nor any of the others,” he told her as casually as if he’d been talking of the weather._

_“What? Why not?” Sarah exclaimed, hand clenching around her fork._

_“The whole world doesn’t bend to your every whim, Sarah,” he replied with an annoyingly careless shrug. “Especially not my world. They are not here to serve you. Nor am I.”_

_“I didn’t say anything about **servitude** ,” Sarah snapped. “I just wanted someone to talk to, that’s all! What am I supposed to do all day?”_

_“Am I not satisfying company?” he asked completely innocently._

_“Are you kidding me? You moved that bathroom around for five hours just to mess with me! Why would I want to spend all day with you?”_

_"And am I not a generous servant?” he replied as if she hadn’t spoken. “I have provided the smaller bed you wished for; I have supplied you with a vanity desk and all its accoutrements; I filled your wardrobe with clothing to keep you from suffering the same attire every day.”_

_Sarah dropped her fork to the table, in case she suddenly found some part of him to implant it in. “The clothes you gave me would have been inappropriate on a prostitute,” she said heatedly. “It wasn’t funny.”_

_"Oh Sarah, you take life too seriously. I only aim to entertain, you know.”_

_“Entertain **who**? Me or yourself?”_

_He simply chuckled._

_“This is ridiculous,” Sarah grumbled. “I feel like Belle stuck dining with the Beast. Only without all the singing teapots.”_

_“I would be careful about drawing such comparisons, Sarah.”_

_"Oh? And why’s that?”_

_He traced his finger around the rim of his wine glass; it made a gentle ringing sound in the quiet of the room. “Do you know what happened in the true version of that tale? With the beauty and her beast?”_

_Sarah shook her head, wary of his sudden casualness that seemed to contrast with the severity of his voice. He placed his glass on the table and stood up, making his way toward her. Then he leant over the table and said very quietly:_

_“The beast did not become a prince for his beauty. He **devoured** her.”_

Shuddering at the memory of his dark words, Sarah shimmied into her snug pyjamas – a soft woollen nightdress and robe – and sat at the vanity desk, readying for bed. She knew that her behaviour was destructive. She knew that she was a grown woman and this was no way to handle things and with each day she seemed to be getting farther and farther away from her purpose. And yet he brought out a fire in her that she hadn’t felt since being a teenager. It didn’t help that she found him insanely attractive. Her impression of him seemed to fit somewhere between arrogant ass and sexy fantasy creature. It was a difficult line to balance, being flushed with anger at one point and subtle attraction the next. She picked up a hairbrush and tried to soothe away her confusion by counting the strokes but instead began wondering if her family knew she was missing. It was a thought so dismal that at first she didn’t notice the tall green figure lurking in the background of her mirrored reflection. Then it coughed pointedly, and she saw it and shrieked in surprise. Whirling around, Sarah clutched the brush as if it were a reasonable weapon.

But it wasn’t behind her; it was _inside_ the mirror. She realised it was the Elf who had summoned her yesterday. “Jesus Christ, you scared the hell out of me!” she gasped, dropping her brush with trembling hands. It annoyed her that she was so rattled by a little mirror trick. Her interactions with the Goblin King were starting to put her on edge. “What are you doing here?”

The Elf climbed out of the mirror the way he’d done so before in the Queen’s court, taking care to step over her desk and onto the floor just short of gracefully. “I apologise for frightening you Miss,” he said, straightening up. “But her Majesty Queen Mira has sent me to enquire about how your mission was progressing.”

“You mean have I tricked the Goblin King into professing his undying love for me yet?” Sarah snorted. “What was your name again?”

“Wick, Miss.”

“Well, Wick, tell her _Majesty_ it’s going to take more than a day. Her son is an ass. Personally I think she’s got it _very_ wrong.”

Wick shrugged helplessly, a strange gesture for such a towering creature with pointed teeth. “I’m just doing my job, Miss.”

“And why _is_ this your job?” Sarah asked, crossing her legs up on her stool and resuming brushing her hair. “You don’t seem to enjoy it very much.”

He looked at her as if he thought surely she was joking. “It’s the Elf life, Miss. Enjoyment has nothing to do with it.” He stood there with a quiet awkwardness and watched her brushing her hair. “But, might I say…the sooner you procure the King’s confession the sooner you and your family can return to normal life.”

Sarah stopped brushing and fixed him with a hard expression. “Right. My family. My brother and sister, who _you_ held ransom against me.”

“That,” Wick replied with a look of genuine regret, “I do sincerely apologise for. But I was just doing –”

“Your job?” she interrupted. “That’s a pretty pathetic excuse, Wick. They’re my little brother and sister, and you scared them. If you don’t like your job, why don’t you just quit? Take up gardening or something.” Despite her irritation, she smiled a little with a sudden silly thought. “You might find you have a green thumb.”

Wick inspected his hands blankly. “But my thumbs _are_ green, Miss.”

Sarah sighed, picking up a bottle of moisturiser and rubbing some into her hands. “Never mind. And stop calling me Miss, would you? I feel like a school teacher.”

Wick’s reply was cut short by a rap on the door.

“Are you decent?” came the unmistakable silk of her captor’s voice through the door.

“Like you’d care,” Sarah grumbled. “God, I don’t think I can handle another minute with him.” She stood up and was about to gesture for Wick to hide, only to find him already gone. With another grumble she opened the door.

“I’d like to continue the castle tour tomorrow,” said the Goblin King without preamble. He was still dressed in his clothes from dinner – black tights and black boots and a crimson coat shredded to feathered pieces. Didn’t he ever wear anything _normal_?

“Would you now?” Sarah replied, barely opening the door wide enough. She had a feeling he would invited himself right on in given the chance.

“I thought it might be time, considering you won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.”

The thought did nothing to improve her dismal mood. “I wouldn’t need a tour if you could keep the rooms where they were _supposed_ to be.”

He gave a small inclination of his head. “I will endeavour to behave myself if you do the same, Sarah.”

She resisted the urge to slam the door in his face. “I think I’ll pass. I can find my own way around.”

He smiled condescendingly. “Do you? My castle is not unlike the Labyrinth itself, you should know.”

Sarah felt a sudden wave of victory. “And as I recall, I did pretty well with that, didn’t I?”

His smile vanished. “Fine. Have it your way. You’re obviously accustomed to that.” And without any further ado he vanished into thin air.

When Sarah closed the door, grinning with self-satisfaction, she found Wick had reappeared and was shaking his head at her. She had the feeling her bubble was about to burst. “What?”

“With respect, Miss, I think you need to make more of an effort.”

“But he’s just going to spend the day harassing me until we end up wringing each other’s necks again!”

“Only if you _let_ him goad you into it.”

She rolled her eyes, but the Elf was right. She did let herself get worked up. It was hard not to, but maybe…maybe if she couldn’t stand to try seducing him…she could work him until he snapped and sent her away. Surely that would be enough proof that he wasn’t in violation of some old law, that he didn’t love her? “Fine. You’re right.” She went back to the door and opened it, calling into the empty hallway. “Goblin King! I wish to speak with you!” She waited a full minute, feeling foolish, until he appeared before her expectantly.

“I’m sorry. I could probably use some help getting around this place. Thanks.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, clearly surprised. “Well then. I’ll see you at breakfast, Sarah. Sleep well.” His words were not exactly pleasant, and his expression was smug. She frowned at what she might have gotten herself into as he vanished just as quickly as he had appeared.

She turned to Wick, who was stepping back into the mirror. “You happy now?” she asked his retreating form. “Tell the Queen I’m working on it, okay? Tell her I have a plan.”

Wick eyed her worriedly, clearly concerned that she was going to cause more trouble, and she felt a twinge of guilt. He was obviously in some kind of servant contract; none of this was his fault. But he’d vanished before she could say anything to reassure him, so she tucked herself into bed and tried to sleep, wondering idly what fresh hell tomorrow would bring.

 


	5. Defy You Deny You

  **Defy You Deny You**

The woman gave new meaning to the word ungrateful. In fact, Jareth was certain that if he picked up a dictionary and searched for the word it would simply be a picture of Sarah Williams. And she would probably have her lovely mouth half open ready to demand something or make a complaint. He simply couldn’t fathom where this fresh level of detestation had stemmed from. She’d taken up his offer to show her the castle grounds, and yet from the moment they began she acted like he’d had her bound and gagged to come along. A flash of utmost irritation ran through him at the tempting picture of her bound in a very _different_ situation. He would never understand her ability to infuriate and intoxicate him simultaneously. Even now, with that look of utter defiance in her emerald eyes, she was a blazing flame that called to him.

                  “Hello? Are you listening?” she waved her fingers in front of his face and he blinked, coming out of his thoughts.

                  “Barely,” he managed to reply quite dryly. “I assume you were making some sort of complaint?”

                  “I asked where the kitchen was,” Sarah replied heatedly. “I’d like to make my own meals. So I don’t always have to wait for you to magic me up a plate of something.”

                  “The kitchen is full of goblin fodder, as I only ever ‘magic up’ my meals, as you so eloquently put it,” he told her, but started to lead the way nonetheless. “But if you tell me what you require, I’ll provide it.”

                  She didn’t thank him. While they walked he snuck glances at her. She wore a loose button up shirt with high waisted black jeans and sneakers. He wondered if she knew what her casual appearance did to him. He’d seen his share of beautiful women; an intricate hairdo and a tight dress had done wonders for him in the past. But Sarah, with her ruffled black mane and her boyish costumes…it awakened a part of him that hadn’t stirred in a long while. Perhaps he liked the ease with which she existed, the confidence of a young woman who had discovered herself and found nothing worth being ashamed of. Perhaps it was the loose shirt that slipped every now and then and afforded him a glance of her tanned collarbone…he shivered with delight at the thought of tracing his tongue along that delicate skin. _No_ , he told himself firmly. _You must never touch her._ But then an even more painfully hopeful thought sprang to mind: _touching doesn’t necessarily mean loving_.

“…need some work done around here,” came Sarah’s voice from beyond his bubble of dangerous thoughts.

“Work?” he replied with a slight cough. “What work?”

“Your castle is a bit of a mess, Goblin King,” Sarah told him, gesturing at the kitchen they had arrived at while he’d been thinking. “It’s a dump actually.”

  This little barb was one of many she’d flung at him today. Her desire to insult him was running deeper than he’d ever known. Yet he looked around at the kitchen, with its broken cupboard hinges and hay-strewn floor; the draws hung open with miscellaneous utensils waiting to fall from them. Everything was faintly marred by scratches or dust or dirt. He seemed to notice this for the first time, and felt something like the stirrings of shame. “I’m a busy man,” he told her brusquely. “I don’t have time to entertain, so what use have I for a kitchen?”

“It’s not just the kitchen,” she replied, stepping around the battered preparation bench to inspect something that was beyond mouldy sitting on the counter. “You’ve let the place go. Don’t you have any pride? You’re a King, and this is your castle. But it looks like a warzone.”

“That’s because it was,” he said quietly, revelling in the anger blooming in his chest. Anything was better than hopeless infatuation. “Have you not noted the obvious lack of any goblins, Sarah? Compared to the last time you were here?”

She put down a broken mug she was looking at and met his gaze, looking almost nervous. “I…I hadn’t noticed,” she said. “I’ve been preoccupied.”

“You hadn’t noticed that the Goblin King has no goblins? I thought you were more observant than that.”

She shrugged. “Like I said. I’ve been preoccupied. So what’s the story then? Where is everyone?”

“They’re dead,” he said boldly. “My goblins turned on each other and slaughtered the weaker species. Now I am King of monsters, the likes of which you had the pleasure of meeting a few days ago.”

Her reaction was strange. She seemed frightened but not genuinely surprised at the information. “So you haven’t fixed anything since then?” she asked.

“I’m a little busy running a kingdom to concern myself with home repair,” he said wryly.

Again there was that annoying shrug, as if nothing he said held much interest for her. “I thought kings would be better at multitasking,” she mumbled just loud enough that he would hear it. Then, wiping her hands on her jeans, she continued: “Can I see the gardens? I want to see what I’ve got to work with.”

She only became worse as the morning wore on. His castle was in obvious disarray, yes, but he’d thought that its size would impress her in some way. After all, he’d given her an entire wing to herself: a private bath, drawing room, bedroom and several alcoves with large bay windows to view the grounds. He’d told her she’d have free reign of anywhere in the castle, except for his private quarters. Yet nothing had drawn more than a few snide comments that grew in increasing viciousness. His mouth began to twitch with the effort of not snarling as they traversed his gardens and she pointed out every little flaw. The Sarah he knew was not afraid to speak her mind but this…this was something else. This was plain spite and utter rudeness. Finally he showed her the web garden, which had always been one of his favourite places: a grassy field stretched out below a thousand different ivory vines that intertwined and glittered in a glorious parody of a spider web. He had spent many restless evenings lying on the grass beneath the webs and watching them catch the moonlight. Though everything else may have started to suffer in his neglect, this place remained as perfect as ever: a silent, shimmering effigy of beauty in his dark world. Sarah was clearly in awe of it for a heartbeat – he saw the wonder on her face – but to his complete exasperation, she set her mouth in a determined frown and turned her gaze away.

Enough was enough. She made as if to simply walk away from his pride and joy with barely a glance and he could take it no more. The bitterness, the attitude and the nasty remarks: there was only so much one could withstand from someone who turned your world. He snatched up her wrist and pulled her into his chest with a force that surprised them both. “That is _enough_ , Sarah,” he growled at her. “Stop this childish behaviour. Tell me what is bothering you.”

If this frightened her it only showed for a second. Her wide eyes and open mouth were quickly smoothed into a look of shrewd defiance. “Why do you care?” she replied pointedly, and for a dizzying moment he felt as if she already knew the answer. “You got what you wanted: I’m the payment for my brother and sister. I’m just property now, right? Traded goods?” she managed to pull her wrist free of his grip, but only because he let her. Touching her heated skin was too much to bear in his current mood. He didn’t know if he wanted to kiss or choke the life out of her. “Who cares what your new possession is feeling?” she spat, turning to walk away from him.

“Fine,” Jareth snarled, overcome by emotion. “If that’s what you truly think of me, so be it.” He vanished and reappeared directly in front of her. “Yes, Sarah, I’m the monster who stole you away,” he growled. “I am the Beast, and you are the Beauty, but this will be no silly girl’s fairy tale. You are in _my_ world, and things never end the way you expect them to.” Oh, how his blood boiled. Not at her, not anymore, but at himself: at the fear he saw in her eyes, plain as day. He had caused the trembling of that entrancing bottom lip, the hardening of those soulful eyes that might never soften again. Because of him. Before she could react, before he could comprehend the damage he had caused, he vanished, leaving her alone in the garden.

 

* * *

  

“Well?!” Sarah shouted into the air, “Did you see that Fae Queen?! Still think you’re right?!” She was shaking, but why was unclear. Hadn’t she wanted this? He’d only tried to show her around, make her feel at home…but she’d had to keep pushing him, had to prove that there was no way he was committing any ridiculous fairy crime. Now that he was gone she sank onto the grass, feeling weak in the aftermath of her need to be hard as hell.

                  She was only mildly surprised when a mirror appeared beside her and Wick stepped out of it.

“Tell her it’s done,” she told him without moving from the grass. From her position she stared up at where the vines began to crisscross in delicate pathways, catching the sunlight and shining. It really was quite breathtaking. Guilt twisted the tiny knot in her stomach.

                  The Elf stood over her with a concerned expression. “She’s away for a conference,” he said. His voice was richer, more comfortable in itself, almost casual. “I can’t tell her anything for a few days. But it doesn’t matter. She wouldn’t believe you anyway. Jareth is just as hot headed as his mother, only he doesn’t mean half the awful things he says.”

                  Sarah regarded the Elf. “You sound different.”

                  He shrugged, taking a seat beside her. “I’m off duty.”

                  “Then why are you here?”

                  “I heard you shouting,” he replied, plucking a blade of grass and twirling it idly in his nimble fingers. “I just wondered if you were all right.”

                                    “I’m fine,” Sarah sighed, head falling back against the grass. “I just…I had to do it. I had to push him. And he _did_ mean what he said; you didn’t see his face. He was so…” she didn’t finish the thought, because it would mean admitting he’d scared her. “Why do you sound like that?”

                  “I’m my True Self,” Wick replied as if expecting her to understand.

                  “I don’t know what that means, Wick,” Sarah told him, rolling her eyes up to him.

                  “Right, sorry.” He shifted on the grass to join her lying down, looking up at the webs. Elves haven’t always been creatures of service. We were more powerful, once, almost as much as the Fae.”

                  “What happened?”

                  “About six centuries of class struggle. Our government clashed with the Fae royals, arguing that we should be made equal. There was a lot of debating and civil unrest between us.” Wick told the story with a rolling cadence in his voice, the confident teller of a story he seemed to hold inside quite preciously. “Eventually the Fae demoted us to a lower class. Split our souls in two so that we could be subservient and feel comfortable in life at the same time.”

                  Sarah rolled onto her side and rested her cheek in her palm, gazing at him in horror. “They _split_ your souls?”

                  He nodded. “We have two now. Two Selves: our Servant Self and our True Self. When we’re working we pick up our Servant Self. We’re to be subservient, be respectful, you know. The usual. At home, we can be our True Selves, pick up the soul that lets us enjoy our private life. It’s meant to keep us from feeling the need to rebel, you know, because we don’t feel the inferiority our ancestors struggled with.”

                  “I can’t believe they did that to you,” Sarah shook her head. “They split you in two just because you wanted to be treated like equals?”

His shrug was forced. “It doesn’t hurt. At least, not these days. The first generation…I heard that was unpleasant. But it’s been bred into us now.” He smiled wryly. “Although, as you can see by my other Self, sometimes the souls have trouble separating.”

“That’s disgusting!”

“It’s our life,” Wick replied offhandedly, but she could tell the subject upset him.

“I guess that explains why the Goblin King is such a monster,” she muttered, aiming to change the subject. When the Elf offered no reply she looked up at him. “What? You don’t think he’s evil? He pretty much just admitted to it.”

“I think…I think some people, when backed into a corner, will react the way you want them to. Because they don’t want to disappoint you.”

“Yeah well, what would you know?” Sarah grumbled, sitting up and hugging her legs to herself.

“I know that you’re not going to get out of this by cheating,” Wick replied waspishly.

“Cheating? How was I cheating? I’m making the Queen see he doesn’t love me! He just sees me as property!”

“The Queen won’t be seeing anything for a few days,” he told her. “She’s busy with royal duties. So you’ve made the Goblin King angry for no reason.” Wick stood up, conjuring the mirror again. “I suggest you try again in a few days. And try a different tact. You’re not going to get what you want by poking him with a stick.” He climbed into the mirror and both vanished with a delicate sweeping sound.

“Wait! Wick!” Sarah called a few times, but nothing happened. She sighed, long and hard. “Good going Sarah, you’ve pissed off the only friend you’ve got here.” She decided to stay in the web garden for a while longer. It was by far the most comforting place in her new home. She lay back on the grass again, feeling it tickle her ear, and watched the sun sparkle off the webs. Despite the beauty of her surroundings she felt worse than ever. Provoking him hadn’t worked; she was pretty sure he wasn’t going to talk to her again. And her only friend was annoyed with her. Sarah plucked at a blade of grass and tore it to pieces in frustration.

 

* * *

 

 

He’d been punishing her. For four days Jareth had avoided all contact with Sarah, letting her drift through the castle in total isolation. At first it had felt good to see her squirm after the way she’d treated him. He’d gotten a vague sense of satisfaction out of watching her return to his garden every day and sit for hours, lonely and bored. But his bitter gratification had begun to ebb when he saw her crying at night. It wasn’t spying, not really…he’d just thrown a few tiny crystal balls her way at times, to catch a glimpse of how she was taking the punishment. And it hardly seemed fair, the guilt he felt when he saw her sobbing into a pillow after the trouble she’d caused him.

                  But as much as he would never audibly admit to it, he _loathed_ the fact that he’d made a grown woman cry.

                  The Dwarf-Goblin knew it, the nasty little scab. He could feel Hoggle’s judging eyes on him whenever they were together. At last he could bear it no longer. She would hate him all the more for this, but he didn’t care. He had to see her smile again, even if it could not be because of him. Rolling his eyes, sighing under the weight of his entire existence, Jareth finally answered his servant’s silent plea.

                  “Go to her,” he commanded. How a command could sound so much like defeat, he didn’t know. “And bring the others with you.”

                  “Thankyou, Sire,” said the ugly little creature with genuine gratitude, and shuffled off without delay. Lounging in his throne, Jareth felt decidedly ill. Yes, she would hate him.

 

* * *

 

 

She was dreaming, that was it. She was dozing on her bed out of sheer boredom, and she’d fallen asleep and was dreaming. Why else would she be hearing two very familiar voices arguing at the foot of the bed?

                  “The cad has poisoned her, I’m certain of it! Why else doth the lady sleep so late in the day?”

                  “She ain’t been _poisoned,_ you idiot. She’s just sleepin’, what else can you expect her to do? She ain’t got nothin’ or no-one in this damned nasty place. Now shut up, or yer’ll scare the wits out of her. We has to wake her up real careful. Don’tcha know what we look like?”

                  “Then I shall wake her like the fair maiden she is: with the kiss of a knight –”

                  “Oh no you won’t! Sarah don’t want no filthy goblin stink on her face –”

This squabbling seemed to go on for a while. It must have been a particularly vivid dream, because for a moment she felt the brush of something against her hand before it was snatched back.

                  “I says no kissing!”

                  “You exasperate me, Sir! What would you have us do then?”

                  “Leaves it to the big guy, okay? He’s gentle enough. And she saw him before so she ain’t gonna be scared.”

Sarah exhaled gently, comforted by the dream voices and their familiar bickering. She curled deeper into her pillow, feeling its downy fabric against her cheek, the whispered crinkling under her ear as she shifted. Then a stink filled her nostrils. It was a strong smell of tanned leather and sweat. It conjured images of kind eyes and big hands, though her nose scrunched up with the intensity of it. Then she felt a weight on her hair: a careful, continuous stroke.

                  “Sarah.”

                  She grinned in her sleep at the familiar voice. “Hello Hoggle,” she murmured, eyes still closed. The weight on her hair was starting to rouse her but she resisted the urge to wake. Waking up would mean saying goodbye to the first friendly voice she’d heard in days.

                  “She remembers Hoggle!” cried the voice ecstatically. “Yer hear that? She remembers!”

                  “Of course I do…” Sarah mumbled, frowning now. The smell was beginning to bother her. As was that insistent patting that felt so real. Her eyes fluttered open, heavy with sleep, and the blurred lines of an ugly toothy blob filled her vision. As she began to focus the blob became a squashy head with kind eyes and two giant fangs. She screamed, not quite recognising him in her stupor.

                  “What the – oh my god, you _scared_ me…” Sarah’s voice trailed off, her hand clasped to her heart. Her big goblin friend had withdrawn his hand from her hair and was just sitting there grinning at her. But he wasn’t what she was staring at. There were two more goblins with him, one just taller than the bed and the other so small it had to crane its neck right back to see her. The taller one grinned at her too, with its beady little eyes and shock of white hair over craggy brown skin. The small one seemed to jitter in its place, with sharp eyes and red and white patches of leathery skin and a bizarre little moustache.

                  Sarah blinked and rubbed her eyes. The familiar voices…

                  “Don’t go bein’ scared of us now, Sarah. Ain’t no need,” said the one with white hair.

                  “I concur, fair maiden,” squeaked the little goblin from the floor, “Do not despair, for we are your loyal companions of old and would never seek to harm you!”

                  The voices just didn’t match up with the bodies. “Hoggle?” Sarah whispered in terrible realisation. “Sir Didymus?”

                  “At your service, milady!”

                  “Yes, Sarah. It’s Hoggle.”

                  And then Sarah made a connection: the big red goblin, with those fangs he would never use on her and his kind eyes and lumbering walk – “Ludo?” she turned to face the big creature smiling sadly at her. His massive hand came to rest on hers, and he nodded but said nothing. “Oh my god.” Sarah felt tears spring to her eyes. “Look at all of you…you’re…” she took Hoggle’s gnarled hand, staring into his new face in disbelief.

                  “Ain’t a pretty sight, we know,” said Hoggle, and he seemed to blush under her scrutiny.

She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “You’re still my friends,” she told him firmly, taking them all in with a sweeping gaze. “That’s all that matters.” Ludo’s long arms reached around her from behind and crushed her into a bone-cracking hug. Though the smell was enough to make her gag Sarah couldn’t help laughing, patting whatever part of him she could reach. “It’s good to see you too, Ludo.”

Set back on her feet, Sarah expected to hear something from the friendly beast before it hit her that she hadn’t heard a single sound from him yet. She noticed a teary gleam in Didymus’ eyes and a particularly wary expression on Hoggle. “Ludo can still talk, right? I mean, _you_ can. But I met Ludo the other day and he didn’t say a word.”

Hoggle averted his gaze. Even as a goblin the action was distinctly familiar of his old self.

“We do not know if Sir Ludo can speak,” said Didymus. “He has not uttered a single syllable since the transformation.”

“But he could talk!” Sarah protested, “He wasn’t some dumb beast!” She turned to Ludo, who was watching her shyly. “Ludo, why didn’t you say anything to me when we met the other day?” she asked him gently. “Why didn’t you tell me you were all here?”

                  Ludo gave a non-committal shrug and turned his gaze to the floor.

                  “He don’t say much no more,” Hoggle said into the silence that followed.

                  “He didn’t say much to begin with!” Sarah cried. “And now look at him! My poor beast, all of you, my friends – what the hell _happened_ to you?”

                  “It don’t matter,” said Hoggle, still talking to the floor. “I needs to tell you I’m sorry, Sarah.”

                  “Sorry for what?” she asked.

                  “For leaving you all alone,” he replied. “When you was younger. And now, too.”

                  In her joy at seeing her friends – no matter what had happened to them – she’d forgotten her old ire at their abandoning her. “Is this why you never visited me?” she asked, gesturing at their bodies. “Because of this? I still would’ve liked to have seen you.”

                  “We had no choice, fair maiden,” said Didymus. “We were bound to the castle as punishment.”

                  “Punishment for what?”

                  “Now, don’t go gettin’ upset about it, it weren’t exactly Jareth’s fault –”

                  “ _Jareth_? The Goblin King did this to you?”

                  “Well, yes, but his Majesty was afforded no other choice, you see –”

                  “But _His Majesty_ did this to you!” Sarah cried in outrage, bristling with a level of disgust she didn’t think possible. “He had no right! And he kept you from me all these years! Was it because you helped me through the Labyrinth?”

                  “Now, Sarah, just calm down –”

                  “ _Was it?”_

                  “Yes but yer ain’t listening –”

“I want to talk to him. _Now_.”

                  “You ain’t got no reason to –”

                  “Jareth!” Sarah shouted into the air, shaking off Hoggle’s pleading grip on her arm. His name clawed its way from her throat like a demon; it felt satisfying to reduce him to something lesser than a King. She would never recognise his power again. The thought of her friends being bound to a man like Jareth made her feel sick. She was insulted by the very idea that he might be in love with her. No, what he’d done was inexcusable, regardless of any supposed feelings he might have. “ _Jareth!_ ”she roared, “I know you can hear me you son of a bitch! Come here!”

                  Her friends quailed at her enraged summons. Yet when Jareth appeared, face expectant and eyes like steel, they gathered in front of Sarah protectively. “Your Majesty,” said Hoggle in a quivering voice. “She don’t mean nothin’ by this, you got to forgive her –”

                  “Silence,” Jareth cut in sharply. “Sarah wishes to speak to me. You will let her.”

                  Sarah pushed through her friends’ protective barrier and stalked right up to him, stopping with her glaring expression inches from his own. “You turned my friends into goblins,” she spat. The hard planes of his unwavering glare were the sole focus of her world in that moment. His mouth was set firm; his eyes made her think of brutal winter. Yet he said nothing. “You made them your _slaves_ ,” she went on. “You trapped them in this castle and forced them to serve you just because they were _kind_ to me, once, years ago! Who the _hell_ do you think you are? They have _souls,_ they had lives, and you took that from them the same way you did me!” She had actually started to jab a finger into his chest during her tirade, hitting him with every other word that flowed from some angry place deep inside her. Still, he accepted her abuse without saying a word. “I used to read that book and dream about this clever Goblin King who would love me. But you’re not some impressive King of nightmares. You’re just a pathetic little man who needs toys to entertain himself. You could never love anyone.”

                  Sarah was breathing hard, feeling dizzy in the aftermath of her rant. But she forced herself to return his stare, refusing to back down. What she saw in his eyes made her stomach twist. It wasn’t fury, it wasn’t even indignation. It was complete and utter anguish. Total and complete misery. But before she could blink he had taken hold of her arms in a crushing grip and leaned in so close that his nose bumped against hers.

                  “You’re right,” he said with such emotion that Sarah knew she’d gone too far. “I _can never love you,_ Sarah Williams. But even so, you are mine now, and doesn’t all your courage just crumble under the weight of that fact?” He released her arms, pushing her away from him. Now he wouldn’t look at her. “Go,” he spat at the others. “Leave.”      

                  With mournful expressions the goblins left Sarah alone with Jareth. “How terrified you must be, owned by a monster that cannot love,” he said to her, turning his back. “Tell me: does it feel like you’ve won this little game, today?”

                  And he vanished, leaving her to wonder.

 

* * *

 

 

It was much harder than they made it look in the movies.

Sarah clung desperately to her lifeline – a makeshift rope of twisted bed sheets and clothes – hoping against hope that it would work just as well in real life. In the stories people made daring escapes from towers. In the stories, it all went perfectly. But Sarah felt ridiculous hanging halfway out of a window with her feet desperately seeking purchase against the stone. Every muscle strained, her hands ached, and she’d bitten her lip til it bled just to keep quiet through the struggle. And any second she fully expected to hear the ripping of fabric and plummet to her death. No, running away was nothing like she’d ever thought it would be.

                  Absurdly, in the moment she slipped further down, she recalled a vague dream from her childhood:

                  _She had a bag packed full of juice boxes and candy bars. It was a heavy weight to bear as she clambered over the rooftops of a town filled with blue houses._

_“What are you doing, little one?” asked a voice from above her. It was a giant owl, tawny and wide eyed and perched on the edge of the roof._

_“I’m running away, what does it look like?” she snapped._

_“And what are you running from?”_

                  Sarah had had no answer then, but she had plenty now: a twisted King who’d deformed her friends, a future of wandering empty castle rooms, the look on Jareth’s face before he’d pushed her away. “Doesn’t matter what you’re running from,” she grunted to herself, slipping further down the makeshift rope. “Focus on where you’re _going_ , Sarah.”

                  Though she’d called and called for Wick, damn him, he hadn’t answered. She’d even tried summoning the Queen to no avail. _So fuck it,_ she’d thought in all her desperation and anger. _I’ll go to her myself._ She’d been through the Labyrinth. She could cross a few fantasy realms, or at least try, sure that someone would eventually answer her calls.

                  This determination was enough to get her out the window and almost to the ground when she heard the ripping she’d been dreading. Her stomach flew up into her throat; there was an awful heartbeat of suspension before she fell crashing the rest of the way into her sad little garden. The air rushed out of her all at once, leaving her breathless and seeing stars. But the fall hadn’t been too bad; she’d been almost close enough to jump the rest of the way anyway. Landing in dead shrubbery didn’t half hurt though. Groaning, Sarah eased herself onto her feet, feeling for broken bones but only finding scratches. Dusting herself off, she made quick work of the gardens in case anyone had heard her undignified escape. Through the various sections she crept, by the fountains and the statues and the beautiful web garden. Everything except the latter was really in need of maintenance…Sarah wondered what guests thought of the way Jareth had let things go downhill. _Who cares,_ she corrected herself, _it’s not your problem anymore._ Fresh determination enveloped her and she made quick work of the pathway that took her finally to the walls of the Goblin City. They rose up higher than she remembered, intimidating in their dank silence as if daring her to cross them. Sarah had no intention of actually _entering_ the city but it was the fastest path away from the castle. The sooner she reached the Queen the better. Her fury with Jareth was a constant tide, ebbing with the effort of escape but flowing anew in each moment of silence.

                  Now, she glared up at the wall and all it contained on the other side. What she’d seen in Jareth’s eyes back in that castle was more worrying than whatever monsters she might face outside. At least that’s what she told herself as she found a foothold and hauled herself up onto the wall. It was just wide enough for her to step without too much fear of falling over the edge and into the city itself. Balancing carefully, Sarah took a brief moment to look out over the horrifying domain. It was very different from what she remembered. The little ramshackle houses had been almost amusing once, filled as they had been with yapping little creatures. Now there were no lights in the city and the houses were hauntingly empty. Even the dark streets seemed to have malicious intent. She strained to see deeper into the cluster of homes and was certain there were large black shapes flitting from shadow to shadow. _Stick to the walls. Get to the other side. Get a message to the Queen. Tell her she can call off this insane investigation. Tell her to free my friends._ She repeated the litany over and over in her head, taking careful steps along the top of the wall as she made her way around the city’s edge.

                  The moonlight was scarce, sheathed behind clouds. She had to take cautious steps in the dim light and had her arms throne wide for balance. Every now and then a muffled thump or rustling would reach her on the foul wind, making her scan the wall frantically for any sign of life.  Fifteen minutes or so passed by easily and Sarah began to consider that she might actually make it through without drama. Her steps came a little more confidently, her chin held high. Jareth liked to think his world was so insidious and frightening for a poor human, yet here she was walking the city walls like a tightrope walker without any problem. She almost felt like smiling in victory, imagining the look on his smug face when he realised she was long gone.

                  Then the clouds parted, illuminating her under the moon, and she realised she was being watched. Twenty pairs of eyes glistened in the sudden light – thirty – forty – there were so _many._ They stared at her from broken doorframes, hung from rooftops, stood hunched over in the roughly paved streets. Sarah hadn’t seen them in her own house, only eyes and claws in shadows. Now they were everywhere and she could make out every leering scaled face, every hungry expression, every tooth and claw attached to large powerful goblin bodies. Her heart was pounding; she stood there frozen in complete view for all to see.   _Oh shit,_ she cursed, _oh shit oh shit…._ she couldn’t think clearly. They hadn’t yet made a move; they just seemed to be watching. She found enough brainpower to take a slow step along the wall, not taking her eyes from the horde beneath her. They did nothing. She took another step. Something chittered sinisterly, and she heard the scraping of claws and gnashing of teeth. Forcing herself to appear calm, Sarah took painfully slow steps, never taking her eyes off the ground. Her heart was ready to burst in panic but she knew that if she ran that would be the end of her.

It felt like hours passed by this way, taking one step every few seconds and watching for any signs of them following. Sweat began to break out on her forehead; her nose itched and she longed to scratch it but dared not make any sudden movements. The wind’s awful smell grew stronger and she struggled not to wretch. And then she heard a hideous whisper from directly behind her:      

“ _Bend and snap the legs and twist the gut blood blood blood…”_

Skin crawling, she turned around just in time to avoid a great sweeping claw. A leathery-faced goblin with one eye and huge teeth had crept up on her from below and took another swipe as she jumped back, arms whirling desperately to keep balance. Sarah turned and ran. She didn’t care that the wall was crumbling in places and shadows made it hard to see. She barrelled along its uneven edge, tears of silent panic streaming down her face as she heard countless creatures give chase with glee all around her. From the corner of her eye she snatched images of monsters hurling themselves at the wall from below, trying to gain purchase on its slimy stone. She almost lost her footing more than once, forcing herself to keep going, to not look back as the litany of gruesome threats became a loud chanting. There didn’t seem to be many goblins ahead of her at least. They were coming from below and behind her but the city further along seemed almost vacant.

She was barely aware of this desperate thought as something snatched at her foot and she fell tumbling from the wall. She hit the stones and screamed in pain, feeling something break in her ankle, layers of skin being rubbed raw across her hands and cheek.

_“What did we say, snap snap snap, break that bone, yum yum yum –”_

Sarah hauled herself to her feet, backing against the wall, crying with the agony of her ankle.

“Stay back!” she screamed dismally, pressing her bleeding hands into her chest. “Stay the fuck away from me!”

But the horde closed in, almost casual in their victory, shuffling towards her with slathering mouths and gleeful expressions. The closest goblin, a hook-nosed demon with red eyes and teeth like a shark, towered over her with a feral grin.

There was nothing she could do. Sarah screamed.

 

* * *

 

 

 _You could never love anyone._ She was right, of course. Jareth could never love her without consequence. Why couldn’t he have fallen for one of the hundreds of Fae noblewomen who’d have flung themselves at him in a heartbeat? Why not Elmira, with her long hair perfect for tugging on and her dark lips always eager for tasks? Why not Lady Shiane, who could turn a phrase as well as any professor and looked delectable when naked beneath him? No, he had to fall for a human. And not just any human. The most infuriating woman he’d ever met in his life. Sarah Williams was ungrateful, stubborn, childish, too clever for her own good…and yet the way she’d yelled in his face had broken him in more ways than he could count. And he knew of no Fae woman who could put him back together the way Sarah would, though he could never allow her to, no matter all the torment she caused him.

                  But there was no way he could send her home. If the hordes were to hear of it, that their King had not only refused them a prize but then returned the human he’d taken as payment…there would be an uproar. They were temperamental as it was these days. Sinking deeper into his throne, Jareth pinched the bridge of his nose. He suspected a headache was creeping up on him, but that was not worth thinking about – he ached a lot lately, in every kind of way. _You could never love anyone…_ he was here in this blasted castle because he loved _too_ much. But she would never know that, could never understand the sacrifices he had made. And yet even as he thought this, he knew it to be wrong. Was she not here for the same reasons as he? To save someone else? And years ago, had she not denied her own dreams to save her brother the first time? The notion that she might understand better than anyone only made him ache anew.

                  He was not in the mood to be shouted at, but that’s exactly what happened then.

“Your Majesty! Sarah’s missing!” came the panicked, gravelly voice of the Dwarf-Goblin, rushing towards him without so much as a how-do-you-do. “She’s gone!”

His irritation at being harassed so late at night momentarily overpowered his comprehension of the reason for it. “Calm yourself, you fool,” he drawled without removing his hand from his now pounding forehead. “She’s probably taking a bath. Trying to soak away that nasty temper of hers, no doubt.” 

“She ain’t nowhere in the castle!” Hoggle exclaimed. “We searched everywhere!”

“The gardens, then,” Jareth replied dismissively with a wave of his hand. He was in no frame of mind to go traipsing the grounds in search of a woman who wanted nothing to do with him.

“What do you think we was doin’ all night, playin’ poker?” Hoggle replied, with more than a hint of impatience in his voice now. He really was becoming far too confident for his own good. “We searched _everywhere,_ your Majesty. Didymus took the top towers, Ludo did the gardens and Hoggle did the rest. Sarah ain’t nowhere. We think…” he wrung his scabby little hands worriedly, voice softening with concern. “We think she’s run off.”

The smallest flicker of unease slithered its way into Jareth’s belly. She wouldn’t be foolish enough to leave the grounds…but the way she’d looked at him, so full of disgust, completely pushed to her limits… _that_ Sarah would do anything. With a feigned rolling of his eyes Jareth stood from the throne and went to the large window facing the City.

“If she’s just gone to the bathroom I’ll have your hide,” he growled, conjuring a crystal ball and willing it to show Sarah to him. Willing it to show him that she was indeed just lost in the castle somewhere and not – _Oh, Sarah._

She was strolling along the walls of the City like some desperate circus performer.

                  “Well? Where is she?” Hoggle asked impatiently, straining to see up at the ball held out of reach.

Jareth gripped the crystal tightly in his gloved hand, forcing his voice to sound unaffected.

“She’s gone for a walk,” he said as carefully as he could. “Along the City walls.”

Hoggle moaned. “What’s she gone and done that for,” he wailed. “She ain’t got no clue what she’s doin – ”

“She’s a grown woman, she can take care of herself,” Jareth snapped. “If she’s idiotic enough to get that close she can deal with the consequences herself. I am not at her beck and call.” Yet his insides squirmed and his eyes never left the image before him. Sarah was balancing in the moonlight, unaware of the danger that was following her in the shadows. _Let them scare her,_ he thought bitterly, ignoring the way Hoggle was pleading at his feet now. _Let her learn the hard way._ One of the goblins was catching up to her from below, scaling the wall. _Let her learn,_ he thought again, more persistently. His foot started to tap in agitation. She narrowly avoided an attack and started to race along. He could taste her fear from where he stood. _Let her learn._ Another goblin hooked its hand around her foot; he watched her fall as if in slow motion. He did not move but a sweat broke out over his entire body. Hoggle was almost crying beneath him now, tugging at his cloak incessantly. _No,_ he thought, though by now his willpower had crumbled beyond help. _She has no power over me. I will not go to her._  

Then he heard her scream.

 

* * *

 

 

Sarah closed her eyes against those rows and rows of jagged teeth bearing down on her. The night was black and filled with awful chittering and guttural threats. _I’m dead,_ she thought as the stink of the goblins filled her nose. _I’m dead, I’m sorry Toby, I’m sorry Alice, I’m –_

                  The goblins began to roar. She heard shrieking and the heavy thud and scrape of bodily contact but couldn’t open her eyes. Then she was being engulfed, not by the teeth and stink of monsters but by a body, warm and earthy. She felt herself being lifted into the air, hugged against a chest – her face was pressed into musky skin. The cacophony of goblin outrage disappeared as the world spun. When it stopped Sarah finally opened her eyes, looking up into the furious face of Jareth. He glared straight ahead, carrying her to a lounge where he set her down none too gently. The throbbing of her ankle spiked with the movement and she hissed, distracted by pain. Jareth had moved away from her and stood by a huge bay window, glowering into the night. His shoulders shook with suppressed fury. She looked around at the comfortably furnished room, plush carpet and writing desk with a decanter on the mantelpiece. There was no fire in the fireplace, and she shivered at the cold emanating from the man by the window.

                  “Where are we?” she asked in a small voice.

                  “Safe,” was his clipped reply. “Despite the damage you have just caused to a relationship that has taken centuries to build. Despite the fact that my hordes will be out for blood because I have once again intervened in what should have rightfully been theirs to take. Despite the fact you have been ungrateful and ignorant from the start of this venture and have done something so utterly _stupid_ I thought it was surely beneath you…you are safe, Sarah Williams.”

                  She felt smaller than she’d ever felt in her life, and yet still there was a part of her that flared up in reaction to his anger. “Then you could have just let me die,” she retorted. “If I’m so much trouble.”

He turned his head slowly to study her, chin held high and eyes blazing. “You have no idea,” he said, voice low and laced with an unnameable emotion. “You have _no_ understanding of what it means for you to be here, Sarah. If you continue in this childish way, next time I might just do that.”

“Well how about I spare you the trouble and head right back out there?” Sarah spat, though there were tears in her eyes now. Whether it was from her miserable situation or the pain in her ankle, she wasn’t sure. She tried to get to her feet but the raw skin of her palms stung hideously when she pressed them into the lounge.

“Sit down,” Jareth commanded, moving toward her.

“I don’t need anymore of your help,” she hissed, trying to get up again.

“You’re obviously in pain. Stop being –”

“I swear if you call me stupid one more time –”

“ _Sarah!_ ” Jareth yelled, his hands tight on her shoulders, forcing her to stay down. He knelt in front of her, his grip strong, his eyes close enough that she could almost see herself in them. She looked terrible. She _felt_ terrible. Finally, she sagged in defeat and his hands came away from her shoulders and he started removing his gloves.

“What are you doing?” she asked, biting her lip as he waved his hand and her sneaker disappeared.

                  Ignoring her he took gentle hold of her bruised and swollen ankle, holding it lightly between his hands. He murmured something, just enough that she could see his lips move but not make out the words. She gasped as her skin began to tingle beneath his fingers and then itch fervently. She longed to scratch it but as she watched the purple and red bruising around her ankle faded, the swelling disappeared, the aching subsided. Jareth felt the tendons of her foot, handling each toe in turn, rotating her ankle a few times and running his thumbs along the arch. She couldn’t quite stifle a giggle at that, ticklish as she’d always been, and he set her foot down with a raised brow. She blushed and looked out the window at the night sky.

                  When she looked back, he was still there, eyeing her strangely.

                  “Thankyou,” she offered into the silence, feeling awkward.

                  “Your hands,” he replied. At her questioning look he gently gripped her wrists and turned her palms upwards to reveal the bleeding, scraped skin.

                  “Oh, they aren’t that bad, you don’t have to –”

                  But he enclosed her wrists completely in his grip and before she knew it her hands were fresh and pink as if she’d just taken a bath. She rubbed her fingers into the palms, amazed at how soft they felt.    

                  “You know, I think I was doing pretty well before your monsters cheated,” she said lightly, feeling suffocated in the silence of his ministrations.

                  And then Jareth reached up and cupped her cheek in his hand.

                  She knew what he was doing; she could feel the burning up the side of her face as she had in her palms moments ago. But for the life of her she could do nothing but watch his lips as he murmured those secret words again and her cheek itched under his warm touch. Maybe she was finally succumbing to shock but it felt like a little too much time passed before he withdrew his hand and stood. She felt the need to say something, to regain some of the power she’d lost after failing so completely to escape.

                  “Look, I appreciate what you’ve done for me, okay? I do. But don’t expect us to become best friends. I’m not here because I want to be. You’re the King of a horrible race of goblins who entertains himself by snatching kids and toying with his subjects. And I’m still mad at you for turning my friends into slaves.”

                  To her surprise, he didn’t seem angry anymore. He moved slowly towards a seat by the window and started to put his gloves back on, thought better of it, then laid them beside him. “Might I say something in my defence?” he enquired, examining his fingers. He sat strangely, his cloak draped over his right leg that he stretched out tenderly.

                  “What? What do you have to say for yourself?”

                  “That I had your friends safely locked away when my goblins began to tear into each other. That they’d have died if they’d been sent to the City, or simply banished to the Outlands where my worst hordes are kept contained.” He winced, moving his right leg a little. “I could have banished them and left them to die. But I decided to keep them safe. Instead I let it be known that they had been killed for helping you, and I then transformed them into the creatures you see now so as to make them unrecognisable, all to keep them _safe_. For _you,_ Sarah.”

                  “Why?” she asked, distracted as he again winced. “Why do that for me?”

                  “Why have I ever done anything for you?” he replied with a shrug that was distinctly uncharacteristic of him. He made as if to stand but this time the cloak fell away and she caught a flash of red.

                  “You’re hurt.” She came to stand in front of him, frowning in concern despite herself.

                  “It’s nothing.” He made to draw the cloak up again but Sarah stilled his hand.

                  “Let me see.” He averted his gaze, rolling his eyes while she gingerly inspected his leg. He had a bite mark stretching from the front of his shin all the way around to the back of his calf muscle. It was messy and bloody, his skin torn in jagged edges. It seemed that the shark-toothed goblin that’d been about to attack her had gotten Jareth instead. She made a sympathetic sound and sat back on her heels. “That’s nothing, is it?” she looked up at him, but he just shrugged in response. “It’s dirty. I need a cloth and water. Have you got anything like a first aid kit? With antiseptic?”

                  Jareth waved his hand and a wooden box appeared beside her, filled with necessary equipment. Sarah found some scissors and cut away the bottom half of his tights, shushing him when he protested. Then she set to work washing the bite with a damp cloth in rhythmic dabs. At first it was awkward, after all they’d been through, for her to sit there at his feet and tend his wounds. But that all seemed to fall away quickly enough as she absorbed herself in the task of cleaning him up. She was by no means a nurse but it felt good to be of some actual use after these long days trapped without a purpose. He squirmed at the application of antiseptic but she shushed him again, fighting the urge to smile at his pout. It grew cold, and she drew her shirt tighter around herself. Noticing, Jareth waved a hand and the fireplace burst into life. Warmth seeped into the room and took the nervous chill from their bones. She began to contemplate what he’d said about saving her friends. And the fact he hadn’t truly answered her question. She glanced up at him, finally starting to relax into the chair, his bare hands thrumming softly on the wooden arms. He seemed oddly vulnerable in that moment.

                  She was applying a bandage when it occurred to her that he could have healed himself with magic. Feeling foolish for spending so much time on the wound, she opened her mouth say something about it.

                  But she caught the look in his eyes, something gentle and unfamiliar on him, and decided to keep quiet.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that the formatting isn't quite consistent, I can't seem to get my head around that when I post it. But it's nothing that draws too much attention away from the story, I think. Hope you enjoyed :)


	6. Chapter Five: Fallout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry if some of the paragraph indents aren't consistent. I can't understand why it picks random sections to indent and not others. 0.o But hope you enjoy nonetheless :)

**Chapter Five: Fallout**

 

The next few days were curious to say the least. Where Sarah had begun eating meals on her own in the kitchen, she now met Jareth in the dining room. She was at odds of how to handle the situation: she was embarrassed by her dismal escape, grateful for his help and confused by their new rapport. The morning after her escape attempt Jareth had walked into the room and paused in the doorway, clearly surprised to see her there:

_“Good morning,” he said with a nod of his head, recovering quickly._

_She replied the same with determined confidence, having decided to make no mention of the night before. He took the seat across from her and eyed the array of breakfast food with an arched brow. “I asked Hoggle to help me,” she explained, “Instead of waiting for you to conjure up something. Tea or coffee?”_

_“Tea, thankyou.” Still, there was an odd quietness to their conversation, an unexpected hush after many days of obstinate noise. They ate fresh fruit and croissants with jam._

_“The kitchen’s well stocked,” she commented, “I didn’t think French pastries would be a thing here.”_

_“I’ve developed a liking for the tastes of humanity,” he answered over his mug of tea. “I thought you might appreciate variety.”_

_Sarah nodded around a mouthful of pastry. It was light and sweet, a contrast to the obvious weight in the air between them. She didn’t ask about his leg, as it was clear that he’d healed it himself. Clearly her ministrations last night had been about fixing something more than just than a bite._

_He asked politely what she was planning on doing today. “I’d like to work on the gardens outside my window,” she ventured._

_“I can have them blooming in a heartbeat,” he told her._

_“I know, but I’d like to do it myself. Gives me something to do, you know?”_

_Jareth nodded. “I’ll have the goblins –” he stopped short at the warning in her eyes. “That is, I’ll ask your friends to supply you with whatever is required,” he amended slowly._

Sarah thought life would have improved from then on, but they seemed stunted by the things Jareth wouldn’t say. Their conversations were polite enough, almost to the point of boring…and she could tell it was because he was distracted by something. With each passing day his eyes grew darker, his expression more pinched and pale no matter how he tried to pretend otherwise. She began waiting longer for him each night, as he disappeared after breakfast and returned for meals with her. But by the fourth night he simply didn’t show, nor did he appear for breakfast the following morning or any day after that. Sarah didn’t know what to make of it. Was he mad at her or just busy with his kingdom? But then why wouldn’t he tell her? _Why **would** he share anything with you? You distinctly told him you weren’t going to be friends, _she thought to herself, pushing around the crumbs of her toast one morning. That was a mistake in tactic, she admitted, considering she was trying to make headway in this ridiculous investigation for the Queen. 

                Rather than waste her time worrying about it Sarah threw herself into gardening. She found plenty of supplies in a little brick shed nearby that had definitely not been there before. It was tough going, working with such neglected plots, but she relished the distraction it provided. If she was digging up earth she didn’t think about the dark shadows under Jareth’s eyes. Ripping out dead roots took too much effort for her to waste energy missing her family. Clipping back bushes that had managed to survive stopped her wondering why Wick hadn’t spoken to her yet. Some days she worked alone but mostly she had company: Hoggle, Didymus and Ludo would help by making her laugh and smile. It was a busy couple of days, if not always enjoyable, and soon enough her garden was flourishing with flowers and plants that would hopefully last the winter. Sarah glowed with pride, settling back on the fourth day to survey her handiwork. She sipped at a glass of water and was wondering what to do next when a voice spoke behind her.

                “It seems you’ve discovered a hidden talent for gardening, Sarah. I’m impressed.”

                Jareth’s unmistakable voice made her turn quickly; it was a sound she hadn’t heard for days. “Maybe I’ll be your groundskeeper,” she replied dryly. “Seeing as my cooking didn’t seem good enough to keep you around.” As she took in the sight of him, her words finished themselves without much fire. She’d never seen Jareth looking so grim. He was thinner than ever, a whiter shade of pale. His clothes looked slept in. There was nothing but tension in his frame and exhaustion in his eyes. “You’re a mess,” she commented quietly, uncertain of this unkempt version of a once frightening King.

                “Likewise, precious.” He looked pointedly at her jeans ripped at the knees, her shirt stained with mud and earth, her face smeared with dirt and sweat. “And as for your grounds keeping offer, I’m here because I have a different task for you.”

“Like what? Scrubbing kitchen floors?” she teased.

He smiled ruefully. “Actually, it’s something I think you’d rather like.”

“I’m sure,” she muttered, allowing him to take her arm as he whisked them away from the garden. When her head had stopped spinning she took in the large mahogany doors they stood in front of, somewhere in the depths of the castle. She realised they must be in his private quarters, as she’d never seen this area before. “I thought I wasn’t allowed around here,” she commented.

“I’ve made an exception for this place.” He pushed one door open and stepped back, gesturing for her to go through. With a wary glance at him Sarah slipped into the room and stopped short in awe. It was a cavernous stretch of wall-to-wall books, thousands upon thousands of them filling every surface of the room. Great ladders stretched up to high shelves where heavy tomes and scrolls were crammed by the dozen. Stacks of books lay scattered in piles around the floor, heaving under their own weight, threatening to spill. The air was warm with the smell of paper and wood, leaving a pleasantly dusty tingle in her nose. She _loved_ the smell of books. She turned to Jareth with a smile on her face. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

“This is my private collection,” he answered simply. “But I’d like it if you would be so kind as to read through it.” He strolled over to a stack and picked the top book off, rifling through its pages. The smell was intoxicating. Sarah swore she could hear the book almost purring. “My duties leave little time for leisurely pursuits and I’m afraid the books are suffering for it. They need to be read.”

                “Why? Do you want me to take notes on something?”

                “No, Sarah.” He smiled, the tension leaving his face for just a moment. He was better looking when he was relaxed, she thought idly. “Books are semi-conscious in my world. They have something of a soul. And they’re withering under my neglect. Now that I have you, you will read them for me. Stoke their fire. Breathe life into them again.”

                “They’re…alive?” Sarah whispered in wonder, reaching out to take the book he was proffering to her. She felt a tiny shiver in its pages as she flicked it open and smoothed out the paper, browning with age.

                “In a way. But the point is, I require you to read them.”

                She cast a look around the room, overwhelmed. “Which ones?”

                “Any of them. All of them. As many as you wish. Just read them.”

Something loosened inside Sarah that had been coiled tight for a long while. The gardening had been a hectic distraction but this…this was a gift, she could tell. Books had always been her refuge, her passion, and he’d handed her a world of stories to discover. It would be a much kinder distraction, soothing her anxious soul. She tentatively placed a hand on his arm.

                “Thankyou Jareth,” she said. The genuine gratitude in her voice surprised them both.

                Jareth’s eyes were riveted to her. “Perhaps you’ll forgive me my absence now, hmm?” he remarked quietly. “Desperate as you are for my company, I know.”

                She couldn’t help but smile at the teasing wink he gave before vanishing, leaving Sarah in her new favourite place.

 

* * *

 

 

It was difficult to see the castle from their position in the gardens, but Sarah couldn’t stop staring at the tallest tower, pondering. “Where does he go?” she asked Hoggle, blowing hair from her eyes.

                “How should I know? I ain’t his watchdog,” replied the goblin dismissively. “You playin’ or what? It’s your turn.”

                “Oh, right. Sorry.” Sarah returned her attention to the board beneath them. They were playing an Underground game similar to chess but with less pieces and bizarre rules. The first few times they’d played, Sarah had suspected Hoggle was just making it up as he went along. Now she’d gotten the hang of it and was quite good when she was paying attention. Not so much today, though. The weather was getting chilly with the first stirrings of winter. They lay spread out on a picnic blanket in the sun, near the web garden. Didymus had exhausted himself playing some kind of ball game with Ludo and the pair was now snoozing happily together. Though it was a comfortable enough scene, Sarah couldn’t help being frustrated. They’d been making tentative reparations to their rapport, but she hadn’t seen Jareth since he’d given her access to his library. He left at some unholy hour in the morning and returned long after she was in bed, no matter how she tried to catch glimpses of him. She couldn’t understand why he was avoiding her now.

                “Sarah,” Hoggle complained. “Make yer move.”

                She shook her head to clear her thoughts. “Sorry Hoggle, I can’t concentrate today.” Studying the board, she made a move to take one of Hoggle’s pieces, only to be quickly countered and lose two of her own. It didn’t faze her in the least. “You have to have _some_ idea. You know everything that goes on around here.”

                “Hoggle don’t stick in his nose in business that ain’t his,” the goblin replied testily. “I don’t know where yer got this idea that I’m a busybody.”

                Sarah grinned. He liked to pretend that he was uninterested in anything not concerning him, but Hoggle had changed in his two years trapped in the castle. Without much to do, he’d become something of a gossipmonger. She was _sure_ he knew something about Jareth’s disappearances.

                “Guess you’re not as up to date as I thought you were,” she teased. “I thought that if anybody knew anything, it would be my clever friend Hoggle. Didymus said so too.”

                Hoggle was staring at the board, but his lumpy ears twitched in her direction. “He did?” he sniffed, feigning disinterest.

                Snatching a quick glance at the tiny goblin to be sure he was still sleeping, Sarah smiled. “Of course he did! I asked him about Jareth and he said the only one to ask about anything happening around here was Hoggle. He said ‘Hoggle’s the goblin for the job, my lady’,” she finished by feigning the squeaky little voice of their friend.

                She could see his chest puff out with pride, but still he was reluctant. “Well, if I _did_ know anythin’, and I wasn’t sayin’ nothing, it’s only because yer ain’t gonna like it.”

                “So you _do_ know where he goes?” Sarah prodded. “You’re not falling behind the times?”

                “I _ain’t_ fallin’ behind anythin’!” Hoggle huffed indignantly. “I know what Jareth’s doin’ with them awful monsters. Just didn’t think yer’d want to know is all.”

                “You mean the goblins?” Sarah asked. “What’s he doing with the goblins?”

                “He’s fixin’ things, ain’t he? Goes out to the hordes every day and comes back late. Tryin’ to stop a rebellion, after – well, never you mind. That’s where he goes, all right? Now stop pryin’.”

                Sarah felt her spirits drop, thinking back to what Jareth had said after saving her: _despite the damage you have just caused to a relationship that has taken centuries to build. Despite the fact that my hordes will be out for blood because I have once again intervened in what should have rightfully been theirs to take._ “Of course. It’s my fault,” she murmured, cheeks burning with shame. “They’re rebelling because he saved me.” She thought of the Queen’s entire reason for needing to dethrone Jareth: Sarah distracted him and the goblin hordes were too dangerous to lose control of. The day suddenly felt not quite as peaceful.

                “Like I said, never you mind what he’s up to,” Hoggle said, a little softer now. He patted her hand. “It’s the King’s business, nothin’ you can do anythin’ about.”

                He was right, of course, but still she looked back at the castle and wondered if she would ever stop causing trouble no matter what she did.

 

* * *

 

 

“Wiiiiiick,” Sarah called in the most whining, grating voice she could manage. “Wick! Wick. Wick. Wick the Elf. Wick my Elf friend. I want to talk to you. Wick. WICK WICK WICK!”

                She’d decided to take drastic action since her friend still hadn’t spoken to her. He could hear summons’, she knew that much. So she’d taken to repeating his name over and over at night before bed, hoping to pester him into seeing her, if at least just to tell her to shut up. So far this theory had not been proven correct, but she was nothing if not persistent. Flicking through the pages of a picture book on Fae wildlife, Sarah rested on her bed while calling out the usual mantra. To her disappointment a lot of Jareth’s books were written in some kind of Fae language; it took a while to seek out sections in English. But the book had beautiful illustrations of different animals in vibrant ink - she was gazing at what was clearly an actual unicorn in sheer disbelief when Wick finally answered her.

                “Forgive me for the intrusion, Miss,” came his voice from her vanity mirror as he stepped carefully out of it. “I couldn’t help but hear that you required my services?”

Sarah’s face had been split in a triumphant smile, but now it fell as his Servant Self appeared. “Oh. Hey. I was kind of hoping for the other you, if that’s okay.” She set aside her book and patted the bed for him to sit.

“But I’m working, Miss,” Wick replied, refusing her offer. “I apologise for the disappointment but I’m sure if you tell me what you need, I could help as I am.” He bowed low before her, his sharp teeth flashing in a kind smile. Apparently his Two Selves had separated themselves a little more since their last meeting. “I am your humble servant.”

                “I don’t _need_ a servant, Wick. I need a friend. So cut the bullshit and get back to your True Self.” She couldn’t stop herself from snapping at him. It had been almost two weeks after all, and this was how he finally answered her? He was not much use to her like this.

                “You don’t like me this way?” he enquired, his large eyes fresh with hurt.

                Instantly Sarah was flooded with guilt. “No, it’s not that! I’m sorry – look, I just really need to talk to you and I can’t get the information I want if you’re busy being loyal to the big scary Queen.” She softened her voice, smiling at him. “Can’t you just take a little break for me? Please?”

                Wick thought about it for a moment. “I suppose I could take a small break. As long as her Majesty thinks I am here working.”

                “Yes! Just go back to her and give her a report on me. We’ll make something up before you go. She’ll never know.”

                “As you wish, Miss. One moment please.” He closed his eyes for a few moments. Nothing visibly changed, but when he reopened them again Sarah could tell instantly he was different. He scowled at her. “Do you have _any_ idea how irritating it is to hear you calling me every night?” he grumbled, taking a seat on the edge of her bed.

                Sarah laughed. What bizarre company she kept. “Well why didn’t you answer me then?” she replied, sitting up. “You couldn’t have been _that_ mad at me.”

                “I was busy! The Queen’s put me in charge of messages, since the last Elf was apparently useless to her. Do you know how many messages a Royal gets in a day?”

                “I’m sorry, Wick.” Sarah patted his arm. “Really. I’m sorry for snapping at you, and for pestering you, and…I don’t know. Just being stuck in this crappy situation and dragging you into it.”

                He placed a hand over hers, smiling reassuringly. “It’s all right, Sarah. I’m sorry too. I should have left you a note, perhaps. But I’m here now. So what do you need to know?”

                “I need to know what’s going on between Jareth and the Queen. About the goblins. And me.”

                Wick’s eyes widened even further than usual, a soft flush of uneasy pink touched his cheeks. “That’s official royal family business, Sarah. I can’t tell you that.”

                “Sure you can!” she persisted, edging closer to him. “Look, you want me to get out of here right? Back to my family? Well, the only way I can do that – considering that I _might_ have been wrong about Jareth – is by getting closer to him. But he won’t let me. He looks like hell, and Hoggle told me he’s been fighting with the goblins. I need to figure out how to get through to him, Wick.”

                She made all this sound as if it were a tactical plan, a way of tricking a confession out of the Goblin King. But Sarah was desperate to know what grief she had caused him and how she might possibly try to fix it. The guilt had been itching at her for days.

                Wick considered her plea carefully, tapping a long finger against his pointed chin. “So what you’re saying is,” he began slowly, “If I tell you what you need to know, I’m not betraying the Queen. I’m _helping_ her. Because you’ll be able to catch out the Goblin King.” He smiled to himself. “Yes. That’s what I’ll tell her if she finds out. Right.” He seemed to have justified the plan enough that he no longer felt guilty. “So what would you like to know, exactly?”

                “Anything you can tell me. Like, what’s happening with the goblins now? Why are they rebelling?”

                Wick lay back on her bed casually, tapping a booted foot. “That’s a small question with a big answer. I suppose it began when you first entered the Labyrinth at fifteen.”

                “You know a lot about that?”

                “Not particularly,” he shrugged. “But you always hear things when a runner defeats the King. And there was an awful lot of talk about _you_ , especially.”

                “Why? What was so special about me?”

                Wick studied her. “No one was sure, to be honest. But there were rumours that the King was interfering with the Labyrinth’s running more than usual, because of a human.” Sarah pointed at herself in silent question and he nodded in reply. “It was said that he forbid the release of a few of the nastier goblins into the puzzle, though they’d always been allowed before. That was the first time he irked them, by going against tradition. He wouldn’t let them touch you, but wouldn’t give a reason. He even had the bigger hordes moved to the Outlands, away from the City while you were there. It was a big source of scandal at the time.”

                So he’d changed some of the rules for her, so what? Sarah didn’t see why that should cause such a fuss. When she said this to Wick, he shook his head at her. “You don’t understand the way it’s supposed to work, Sarah. The goblins outnumber the Fae – and most of us, for that matter – almost a hundred to one. The only way the King remains in control of them all is through mutual respect. It’s perfectly all right for him to do what he pleases with them so long as it’s done in a respectful way, as far as goblin etiquette goes. But he started taking away their rights when he changed the rules, and in the two years since then he’s only gotten worse.”

                “But they’re just monsters,” Sarah replied. “How can monsters have a code of conduct?”

                “That depends on your idea of what a monster is,” Wick told her. “To you, they’re hideous beasts with big teeth. To them, you’re just their natural prey – the same way a deer is to a tiger. Nothing unnatural about that, is there?”

                “I suppose not…” Sarah admitted, resting her chin in her hand. “So what else has he done to them?”

                “From what we’ve overheard in the Royal Palace, he wasn’t there when the bigger breeds slaughtered the weaker. He was spending a lot of time away from the castle, which they resented and took advantage of by killing off the goblins that had been formed by humans won in the Labyrinth.”

                “Where was he going?”

                “I don’t know,” Wick said. “Nobody knew for sure. But there were rumours, of course, that he might be going Above. To your world.”

                Sarah’s stomach fluttered. “He…he’s been coming to my world? Why? For how long?”

                “They’re just rumours, Sarah. Ideas. Nobody but the King knows. The person with the strongest suspicion is the Queen, and you know what she thinks.”

                This did nothing to quell Sarah’s unease. It was one thing hearing from Jareth’s mother what she suspected; it was another thing altogether to hear the fallout in detail. “So – so he sent them away, right? When he learnt what they’d done?”

                “Yes, he banished all goblins from the castle grounds, another thing that had never been done before. They’ve been refused any right to seek audience with the King outside the City. And then your brother made his wish, and the King struck his deal with you, which snatched away any promise of a prize in the goblins’ eyes. Add to that the fact that you wandered directly into their nest and he pried you out of their open mouths and well…can you see why they might be ready to rebel?”

                “Yes,” Sarah murmured, “I can see why.” She felt like a little girl who’d run amok and made a mess without even knowing it. “But he’s fixing things now, right? That’s why I haven’t seen him around?”

                Wick met her eyes. “But you know how well that’s going, don’t you?” he asked in a voice that left no question.

                She pictured Jareth’s haunted expression, his long days away, how tired he must be. Her silence was answer enough.

                “There are other rumours too,” he continued sombrely. “Goblins attempting to breach the City Walls, or to cross the Outlands borders into the Western Realms. There’s quite a large population of Dwarves over that way. Goblins love them because they remind them of human children.” He shuddered. “There’s not been a single runner to survive the Goblin City in weeks, even if they do make it through the Labyrinth. The King is losing control, Sarah. Something has to be done soon. Even the Queen is worried. Why do you think she’s making you do all this? We can’t force abdication on a ruler without sufficient proof.”

                “And just how the is word of one little human against the Goblin King going to be sufficient proof?”

                “Don’t you know?” he asked, raising a brow at her and frowning.

                “Know what?”

                “The Queen armed you with a Proof Spell. It’s a piece of magic that captures evidence. As soon as the King speaks the words ‘I love you’ to you, in any way, his mother will know and we can start the process of arresting him.” He tilted his head, as if inspecting her. “It’s on you right now.”

                Sarah searched herself for a mark or a sign that she’d had a spell cast over her. Wick found this amusing.

“You can’t _see_ it, Sarah,” he told her with a wry smile.    

“She had no right do that to me without asking.”

                “She’s the Queen of the Fae Domain,” he replied soberly, “She’ll do whatever she must.”

                Sarah flopped back onto her pillow with a huff. “I’m starting to think I don’t like Fae as much as I thought I would. Ten-year-old Sarah would’ve loved this, all the magical fairy drama. But now…” she rolled onto her side, met Wick’s understanding gaze. “I think the mystique’s wearing a little thin. They don’t seem to have an issue with taking what they want.”

                Wick had a funny expression on his face, a half grin with a twinkle in his eyes. “But you don’t mind when the Goblin King does it, do you?”

                She shot him a hard look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

                “I noticed you’re calling him _Jareth_ now.”

                “So?” she sniffed defensively. “He saved my life. I think that puts us on a first name basis.” She gave his leg a little kick. “Don’t go getting ideas now, Elf boy.” Her teasing smile faded as she thought of something. “Wick…what happens to him? When – if – the Queen arrests him?”

                It took him too long to answer. “I’m not sure,” he said eventually, not quite meeting her gaze.

                “Wick.”

                “I can’t tell you, Sarah. I don’t know. Maybe he’ll be exiled, or given another position…”

                “Exiled? Bit extreme, don’t you think?”

                “He’s breaking a very sacred law, Sarah. You don’t understand.”

                She still couldn’t fathom how loving a human could be such a terrible thing. “It’s not his fault,” she protested. “It’s not like you can help the way you feel about someone.”

                “So you _do_ think he has feelings for you?”

                Sarah rolled her eyes. “I’m just saying, that _if_ someone did feel _something_ towards someone else…why should they suffer for it?” Then, in the same beat: “What if I left? You could take me home. Would that help?”

“You’ve been gone for two years, Sarah. It all started when you left.”

Her frustrated sigh lingered in the air between them. “So I’m doomed to condemn him, is that it? I was the one who wished Toby away the first time. He’d never have met me if I hadn’t been so selfish. It’s my fault; but _he’s_ the one who gets punished for it.”

“You’re the one that made me tell you all this, Sarah. I don’t have the answers. I just know what I know.”

“No, you’re right. Sorry. This is just…this is so much more complicated than I thought it would be.”

                “He’s just a nasty Goblin King,” Wick said, sounding a little too much like he was making a point. “He’s the arrogant, bored king of a dirty old maze who used you for entertainment. _Your_ words, if I remember correctly. Why do you care what happens to him? Do your job and you can return home.”

                His curious expression and the meaning in his voice caused Sarah’s cheeks to flame. Her back stiffened as she stared at Wick defensively. “Because it’s more than a job, Wick,” she snapped. “It’s his life. I’m not a Fae. I don’t like using people for my own ends.”

                Wick opened his mouth to reply when he suddenly caught a look at the clock on her wall. His eyes widened. “I’ve been here for too long,” he said worriedly. “She’ll notice.”

                Sarah grabbed his arm as he made to leave the bed. “You’ll help me though, won’t you?” she asked him in a quick breath of air. “I need to know what goes on with the goblins, Wick.”

                He patted her hand once before getting up and heading for the mirror. “I’ll help you, Sarah.” He stepped from the floor to her stool to the mirror in one fluid movement. “Fates protect me, I will,” he mumbled as he disappeared.

                Sarah smiled with relief but it didn’t last long as she picked up her Fae book. _A Queen put a spell on me. A King will be punished because of me. My friend wears souls like outfits and I’m sitting here reading a book about actual unicorns._

Her ten-year-old self would definitely have been in heaven right now, but all Sarah could feel was confusion. “He _chose_ to be Goblin King,” she told herself firmly. “It’s his own fault if he loses his throne over a crush. And it’s not like he’s a good guy, exactly.”

                _He’s the arrogant bored king of a dirty old maze who used me for entertainment._

_It’s not like you can help the way you feel about someone._

                Sarah’s own words haunted her, mingling into a jumble of nonsense that forced her to leave the bedroom in search of some distracting goblin company.

 

* * *

 

 

In hindsight, it might not have been the brightest idea to give her the library. Not only did it place her directly in Jareth’s private quarters and leave her scent lingering in the hallways but it also afforded him a fresh kind of torture. He’d tried not to watch her with his crystals too often, aware of her rights to privacy. But since the escape incident he’d found himself performing slightly more regular sweeps of the castle to reassure himself that she wasn’t off doing something foolish again. It was during one of these particular searches that he’d discovered a new way for her to drive him mad. Sarah was in the library often, as he’d expected her to be, but he hadn’t realised that the simple sight of her reading could stir such affection in him.

       Some days she would sit at a table surrounded by a wall of books, absorbing information in a passionate frenzy. Her eyes would fly across the pages as if she was dying of thirst and the words were a lake. He watched her reactions to stories. When something was shocking she gasped, her mouth a perfect open circle, and he thought of ways she might do that in reaction to him. When a story was confusing her brow furrowed in a delightful crinkle. He did not like when a tale upset her. She would blink and reread a paragraph to be sure of what had happened. And then she might cry out in anger, or disbelief, or anguish. Once she actually flung a book across the lounge and seethed in indignation. In her most peaceful moments she would lounge by the window with her feet tucked up beneath her, a thick novel in her lap.

       It made little difference if sunlight or moonlight illuminated her – she was always beautiful. What made his soul ache was the serenity of her expression: her eyes would be heavy lidded, her mouth forming silent words and her tongue darting out just a little in concentration. He knew he could have denied her nothing in those moments, if she only knew he was there waiting to serve. It became a delicious type of self-punishment, to fall for this creature whose wings he had clipped and know she would never let him heal them. Perhaps he was a masochist.

       Late one evening, six weeks after she’d arrived, Jareth found himself heading towards the library in person. His day had been exhausting: hours of conversation with the Dwarf Council over several ongoing border crossings by his goblins. The little scabs didn’t understand that next to children, dwarves were a tempting source of prey to the hordes. What was a little skirmish or two compared to the total chaos of losing a whole town to a rebellion? He felt irritated and old, dirty with the stink of bureaucracy. Without quite realising it he had arrived in the library and found himself standing before a startled looking Sarah. She sat on the lounge in leggings and a baggy shirt that had ridden up at the waist. Her mouth made that lovely o shape in surprise. Yes, he was definitely a masochist.

     She arched an eyebrow at him. “Did you want something?” she asked, a finger keeping the place in her book as she tucked up her legs.

      It took Jareth a moment to answer. He wasn’t sure what had brought him there. “I need some information,” he lied. “Political readings. I won’t bore you with the details.”

      The o disappeared from her mouth and she shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He chose a random direction to head in and her voice called to his back: “I’d look in the North corner though, if I were you. There’s a bunch of political stuff on the middle shelves.”

      He turned back to her with an impressed expression.

      “You think I don’t know my way around a library?” she teased with a wary smile. “I used to work in one, you know. Before…” she trailed off.

      “Before you became a live-in bookworm,” he replied, changing direction though there was absolutely nothing in the North corner that interested him. Still, he spent a few minutes pretending to browse before selecting a few books at random and taking a seat at the heavy wooden table. He longed to sit right down on that lounge and drag her legs into his lap, but keeping his distance seemed a wiser option. An hour passed by in total silence, her reading with rapt attention and Jareth feigning interest in the books he’d snatched. The first was a discourse in Fae politics that he discarded instantly with vehemence. The second was about the ramifications of fairy migration and the third turned out be a mildly interesting memoir of an ancient Elf artist famous for his political work. He was starting to become genuinely intrigued when he felt a pair of eyes on his back.

     “Did you need something, Sarah?” he asked dryly without taking his gaze from the page.

     “Did you inherit the throne from your father?”

     The question startled him. His fingers curled around the book tightly. “No,” he answered curtly.

     “Did you apply for the job then? Was there an ad in the paper saying ‘Goblin King Wanted’?”

      He snorted despite himself and set down his reading materials, turning to face her. She was studying him with a look on her face like confusion dipped in pity. It made him itch uncomfortably. “Why the sudden interest?”

      Her book was closed with a soft sigh and laid gently on the floor. “I’m just trying to figure out why anyone would _want_ to be in your position. The hours suck, your employees are monsters and you look terrible.” She took a moment to stretch languidly; the skin of her waist was bared to him as she reached upwards and yawned.

     He tried not to lick his lips at the sight, momentarily foggy-headed when he heard the soft footfalls of her gentle weight and suddenly found her standing beside him. “Really, Jareth,” she said quietly. “You should sleep more. You look like you need it.”

     A multitude of smart replies sprang to mind, but not one of them made it beyond his lips. Was she _concerned_ for him? “I have reading to do,” he answered mildly, inhaling the raw scent of her as she reached across and picked up the book he’d discarded.

    “No good?” she enquired, flicking through the pages though it was in a language she didn’t understand and he didn’t want to. “You gave it the flick pretty fast.”

    “I find Fae politics a little too barbaric for my liking,” he stated.

    “Says the King of the Goblins,” she quipped with a soft laugh, putting the book down. “There’s a lot of stuff here I can’t read. I’d like to learn the language, one day.” She padded towards the door and he watched her go with regret. She paused in the doorway, turning back to him. “Thanks for the company, by the way. I love my friends but…it’s nice to have another human around, you know?” She smiled. “Well, as human as you can ever be.”

    “I can understand that,” he told her. “Perhaps I will join you again. I’ve made little progress in my research.”

     She nodded, yawning. “Good night, Jareth.”

     He smiled a genuinely soft smile. “Good night, Sarah.”

               

* * *

 

 

He’d imagined that life would be more pleasant once he was on good terms with Sarah. Indeed, she no longer seemed to despise him outright and she’d abandoned her churlish attitude. But as the weeks wore on it seemed that the Fates were only intent on tearing him into smaller and smaller pieces. A part of him was in constant unease – no, _fear_ , that’s what it was – that his mother would find out about Sarah. There was only so much he could do to protect her. Another part of him was being rubbed raw by duty – endless meetings, debates on ethics, reprimands by Councillors, useless attempts to cajole the hordes back into submission…he was beginning to crack under the strain. He barely had time to eat and sleep, no matter which way he rewound the clock. The only thing keeping him together was his time with Sarah, and even that was limited. He would join her in the library under the pretence of research two or three times a week.       

                Still, these meetings were never guaranteed to be enjoyable. Some days she was so immersed in her reading that he might as well have been invisible. Other days she was far too curious about his research and the goblins. He loathed speaking of his work with her – not only because of its unpleasant nature but because he didn’t want her to know the uproar she’d caused. What would she make of the damage she’d done, and the things he had to do to make up for it? He was certain it would ruin any softened opinion she might have formed of him.

                Their newfound companionship was not safe from arguments, either. As they grew more comfortable around one another they let their true personalities come into play. Sarah was passionate and stubborn, which he’d always known, but now it showed on a level he found intellectually stimulating. They had heated debates about literature and society. She’d found _Wuthering Heights_ in his collection one day and had argued incessantly that Heathcliff and Cathy deserved each other only so far as that they deserved no one better. Heathcliff was a dangerously possessive beast and Cathy a spoilt, mulish woman in her opinion. When Jareth had made a passing remark about similarities between Sarah and Cathy, she’d flung the book at him and stormed off.

                Having briefly studied a degree in Sociology, Sarah also seemed to think she could match him in battles of socio-political thought. While her ideologies weren’t necessarily naïve, he had more than a few decades of experience on her that often sent them careening into fights if he didn’t watch his tongue. Which he didn’t, of course, and neither did she, and quite often he found their impassioned arguments more thrilling than anything he’d experienced in a long time.

               These moments turned to embers though, burning hot and then becoming ash on the wind. And what were left behind were quiet evenings of peace, like seedlings sprouting after a fire. He began to live for these times, when she would greet him with a smile and offer snacks because he’d missed dinner. Eventually he abandoned the pretence of research and instead began delving into the literary world he’d once belonged to. Sarah didn’t quite agree with his initial choice of reading materials:

_“I thought you were going to start reading for fun,” she stated, breaking the comfortable silence he’d been enjoying._

_It took him a moment to answer. Tonight she was scanning maps of his world. Apparently the best way to do it was sit cross legged on the wooden tabletop and spread them out before her in a mess. He’d looked up to see her black hair falling across her intent face and felt the urge to sweep it out of the way. “What do you mean?” he asked eventually._

_“I mean, how can you think that that manipulative shit is fun to read?” she asked bluntly, gesturing at the book in his hands._

_“ You can’t reduce Machiavelli to simple issues of manipulation,” he replied._

_“What else would you call it? He laid down the guidelines for being a sneaky son-of-a-bitch just to get a little more power.”_

_“And you don’t see how that might resonate with someone like myself?” he retorted, though the book now felt wrong in his hands._

_Those sharp green eyes were studying him from beneath the fan of her hair. He watched her fingers tap a thoughtful rhythm on her knee. “I might have thought so, before…” she murmured. He wondered if she’d even intended for him to hear it. With surprising lightness she spun and hopped down from the table, disappearing into the stacks. She returned shortly after with a book, which she slid across to him after taking up her position on the tabletop once more. “You need something with emotion, with soulful meaning. You really want to spend all day being a ruler and then all night **reading** about being a ruler? Try some of that.” She gestured at the book and resumed scanning the beautiful cartography of his world._

_He examined her recommendation. It was a collection of poems by Walt Whitman, a dusty old volume he’d read many times, but not for decades. “You think me more familiar with words that gain power than the power of simple words,” he said quietly, thumbing through the pages of a book long forgotten. It hummed softly at his touch. “’O you whom I so often and silently come where you are, that I may be with you; As I walk by your side, or sit near, or remain in the same room with you, Little you know the subtle electric fire that for your sake is playing within me’.” He did not look up while he recited this, running the pad of his thumb along the spine of the book. The words fell easily in a low cadence from his lips; his memory was long and Sarah invoked poetic thought within him any time of the day. Only when he was finished did he dare to glance up, find Sarah staring at him as if she’d never seen him before. He grinned to take the weight out of the air. “That was always one of my favourites,” he said lightly, succumbing to a foolish desire to ruin the moment. “It works wonders on women, especially those who know nothing of human culture and believe the words are my own.”_

_Sarah’s mouth opened slightly; her tongue darted out and licked her lips. “Yes, I can see how it would work quite well,” she commented stiffly, returning a firm gaze to her maps. “Maybe you **are** better suited to Machiavelli.”_

He chose more imaginative material after that, indulging in more Whitman and Tennyson, Frost and Sylvia Plath. The resurfacing of some ancient Fae poetry held some interest for him, trying to remind himself of a time his people had had more open souls. Sarah preferred her novels, though her taste was difficult to pin down: she leapt from fantasy tales to romantic frivolity to word-heavy Dickens within a week. Between the two of them they made good use of the library, awakening enough books that the room began to hum softly with each visit. Sarah adored the gentle purring of thousands of stories; she said she could make out melodies on a quiet enough day. When he told her that she was indeed hearing the song of The Dream Reality books, she grinned in sheer wonder. The music of the books and the look on her face shifted a part of his soul that had turned to stone so long ago. They began to spend time sitting on the lounge together, eyes closed and listening for the music. In those moments when the firelight chased shadows on Sarah’s face and the songs made her smile dreamily, Jareth knew that he was doomed to love her indefinitely.

 

* * *

 

 

“I was writing a book,” she told him one particularly chilly morning as they ate breakfast.

“Oh?” he arched a brow in query. Talking of her old life always made him mildly nervous. Would she realise all she’d given up one day and renew her hatred for him?

Sarah scooped up the last of her oatmeal and paused with the spoon just at her lips. “I want to work on it again,” she told him. “Do you think I could have some stuff to write with?”

It was an innocent enough request, yet he felt unexpectedly overwhelmed by it. She was asking him for more things to occupy her time with, which seemed to him that she was beginning to accept her life here and wanted to settle into it. “Your wish is my command, precious,” he responded, wondering when exactly she’d stopped protesting his pet names for her. “I’ll have Hoggle bring something to your rooms.” Perhaps it was because he’d started treating her friends as more than servants. He’d been making more of an effort lately to let them treat the castle as home and not a workplace. She seemed to be less inclined to bicker with him as a result. Her excited smile was more satisfying to him than any of the delicious breakfast he’d consumed that morning.

 

* * *

 

 

“Keep goin’ now, Sarah. Trust me, you ain’t gonna trip.”

                “Is it really necessary for me to be blindfolded?” Sarah said with a hint of excitement and impatience. She had a scarf wrapped softly over her eyes and was being led back to her room by Hoggle.

                “Jareth wanted to surprise you. I’m just doin’ as I’m told.”

                “He did _ask_ you for help, though, didn’t he?” she slowed her steps, concerned that Jareth might be treating her friends like servants again. She could almost _hear_ Hoggle rolling his beady little eyes.

                “Yes, Sarah, he _asked_ me for help, all right? Don’t get yerself worked up over nothin’.”

                “I thought you’d like being treated a little better,” she replied with a sniff, feeling his hand urge her back into her original pace.

                “Hoggle ain’t used to be treated like nobody other than just Hoggle,” was his reply. “Cept you, of course. It just takes gettin’ used to when the Goblin King suddenly wants to be yer friend.”

                “I know, I get it. Sorry. Are we nearly there yet?” as she asked she felt him stop in front of her.

                “We’re here. Go on through the door.” There was an excitement in his voice too, now.

                Sarah stretched out a hand and felt her way through the doorway and into her room. Why she’d had to be blindfolded the whole way was beyond her; it was probably just because Jareth thought it would be funny to watch her stumbling around. She felt Hoggle’s hands pushing her forward and positioning her in front of what she could make out as her desk.

                “All right, off yer go,” he instructed, and when she removed the blindfold she gasped with delight.

                It was the most beautiful typewriter she’d ever seen in her life. She’d written most of her book on her clunky old computer, but she would happily start all over again just to use this machine. It was the colour of an inky night sky and painted with intricate golden vines and flowers. The keys were bright gold and made a satisfying clicking noise as she tested them out. The letters pressed onto the paper looked like delicately handwritten cursive. She’d expected pen and paper but to be presented with something like this…Sarah was starting to think she might believe the Queen’s suspicions about her son. First he’d given her the library, and then she’d noticed that her garden had kept blooming right on through this snowy winter when it should have wilted weeks ago. Now this gorgeous gift…her smile dimmed.

Jareth had changed a lot in the past few weeks, in more ways than one. He’d been looking more and more unwell as his job wore him down. Wick supplied her with information on riots among the hordes and more escapees wreaking havoc in the Dwarf colonies. She’d learned how furious the Queen was becoming, how desperately she needed Sarah to hurry things along. But the more time she spent with the King the more she found herself enjoying his company. And the more she realised that, the harder it was to think about betraying him. It would only cost him his job, she’d been telling herself, a job that wasn’t doing him any good anyway. And yet why did she sit in that library most nights and wait for him to join her? Why did she listen to the books’ songs and snatch glances at his handsome face, and feel overwhelming guilt?

“Don’t yer like it Sarah?” Hoggle asked, interrupting her thoughts.

She forced a smile at him. “I _love_ it, Hoggle, I do,” she assured him. “It’s beautiful. I’ll have to thank Jareth later.”

Her friend didn’t seem convinced, but he left her to it when she took a seat in front of the typewriter. She tried to recall how she’d started her story at home, but looking at the glittering gold flowers and the silvery sheen of the letters only brought her thoughts back to Jareth and how kind he’d been lately. Was it an act? Was he pretending to appear chipper though his work was exhausting him? Or were the nights he spent with her the real Jareth, the Fae temporarily unburdened by duty, the man he might have been in kinder circumstances? Sarah sighed heavily and tugged her shawl around her shoulders more snugly, upset by the idea that she might be learning who the real Jareth was and worse, that she might like him.

 

* * *

 

 

He was late but hopeful. Sarah seemed to read at all hours of the day and night, so he passed by the library to see if she might make his night bearable after a cruel day. She was fast asleep on the lounge, her head resting against the arm, legs stretched out in front. Her book had fallen onto her lap. Oh, how he wished he could feel that level of peace. But he was a slave to the wishes of others and had no time for his own. Smiling softly at the tender sight, Jareth carefully took the book from her and made to place it on the floor when he glimpsed the cover. It was a collection of poems in Elvish. He’d recommended it to her a few days ago because there were translations in the margins, scribbled by his own hand what felt like a lifetime ago. He wondered what she thought of them. They were tales of heartache and hope in a desolate world of the author’s own creation, but he knew it was based on the Elvish struggles for equality and that the poems were a metaphor for the author’s lost community. He’d been fascinated by the works as a young Fae, open minded like his father and questioning the ethics of his people’s decisions. He flicked to a page and read his own translation in his graceful looping cursive.

Jareth’s eyes travelled between the book and Sarah, his body making a decision as he found himself sliding onto the lounge with Sarah’s feet in his lap. It was wonderfully intimate to feel the downy fabric of her socks beneath his fingers. For a moment he simply watched her breathing deeply in contentment. He felt the urge to peek into her dreams but resisted, settling instead for lightly resting one hand on her calf and perusing the Elf poems with the other. He read for a while, transported back to a simple time in his life. But soon the pull of sleep was too enticing, with the fireplace’s heat and Sarah’s warmth beside him. His head tipped back onto the lounge and his eyes closed, for once dreaming of absolutely nothing.

He was woken a few hours later by the call of a wish in his mind. Dread resumed its familiar weight inside him as he heard the usual whispers of those wishing someone away. Sighing as if he’d lived a thousand years, he was at least relieved to find that Sarah was still asleep. She would be none the wise of his stolen nap at her feet. Easing his way out from under her he conjured a blanket. The fireplace would burn all night with his spell, yet still it afforded him a little comfort to perform the simple task of tucking her in. He brought the blanket up to her shoulders and settled it carefully, brushing hair from her face. She smiled briefly without opening her eyes. Tormented by the mere sight of her enviable contentment Jareth vanished, resigning himself to what was waiting for him in the Labyrinth.

 


	7. Thicker Than Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS STORY IS LIVING INSIDE MY SOUL.
> 
> Even having already written the bulk of this chapter several days ago, I have just blinked, looked at the time, and realized I've been writing for SEVEN HOURS. Seven hours! On half of a chapter! It was so fun to write though. I hope you love. I had to listen to a lot of Station to Station to get me through it. My love to you all, because we all love Bowie and we all love Labyrinth and love is not loving. So we need to give it to each other. :)

**Thicker than water**

 

Sarah thought she knew what winter was until she experienced it in the Goblin Kingdom. Hoggle had tried to warn her of the approaching season, urging her to enjoy the outdoors as much as possible before it truly set in. She’d told him to stop being so dramatic. But now that they were in the very middle of a Dream Reality winter she regretted dismissing him. The sun on her face and the grass under her feet were wistful memories. What she had now were winds that could strip the hair from your head; snow so deep it covered the entire lower half of the trees; a cold so intense it drove entire realms into deep hibernation. This frozen hell had lasted almost five weeks and showed no signs of letting up. The King’s magic kept the castle and its inhabitants warm, which seemed to be enough for everyone else. But Sarah, who wasn’t used to being driven indoors for so long, was starting to show signs of cabin fever. She was restless and bored, longing for the cacophony of summer: waves breaking, birds twittering, children screaming after the ice cream van.

                “If I never see snow again it’ll be too soon,” she grumbled, pacing the library one long afternoon. Even the lure of a thousand books was not enough to satisfy her that day. Their humming seemed to quieten in the wake of her anxiousness, reacting to her restless presence.

                “I thought you said winter was romantic,” her companion drawled from his spot on the lounge. Jareth had his legs hanging over the arm, his head on a pillow. He’d been scanning the book propped on his lap for twenty minutes and grumbling to himself. “Will you cease your pacing? It’s very distracting.”

                “ _Normal_ winters are romantic,” she replied tersely, throwing herself onto the lounge beside his head. “Sitting by a fire. Walking arm in arm through a flurry of snow. Hot cocoa to keep warm. If I stuck my head out that window it’d turn black with frostbite. There’s no romance in freezing your ass off.”

                “It would be a terrible shame to ruin that pretty face,” Jareth replied distractedly, thumbing through the pages of his book. “Or indeed, have your respective derriere fall off with the cold.”

                She rolled her eyes. “Don’t say derriere.”

                “Useless. It’s all useless rubbish,” he announced with a frustrated growl, tossing the book aside and pressing his hands to his face. He gave a very long, very tired sigh.

                Sarah tilted her head sideways at him, crossing her legs. “Nothing?”

                “Not a scrap,” he complained through his fingers. “You’d think there’d be more to say about goblin conduct after millennia of dealing with the beasts.”

                Her mood worsened at that. They’d been scouring political works for days in the hopes of finding new ways to tame the hordes. The upshot of such bad weather was that the rebellion seemed to have lost steam, giving Jareth more time to himself. The annoying part was that it proved useless to spend that time researching. With each fresh book thrown aside Sarah felt hopelessness growing like a bad seed. It seemed nothing the King did could repair his relationship with the goblins.

                Noticing her despondency Jareth reached behind him and gave a sympathetic pat where he guessed her knee was. It landed on her thigh and the jolt of heat that shot through her was unexpected but not unpleasant. “Cheer up, pet,” he told her, unaware of her flushed cheeks. “I’m working on it. Let’s dwell on nicer things, yes?”

                “Like what?” Sarah asked lightly, removing his hand from her leg.

                He tilted his head as far back as possible to catch her eyes. “Perhaps we could think of nicer ways to keep warm, hmm?”

                This flirting had been happening more and more gradually. Not that Sarah minded exactly; she was old enough to know her attraction stemmed from genuine interest and not just because she had no other human interaction. It was the guilt, as always, that had her casually reject him time and again. She was _supposed_ to be doing all this, drawing him to her so he would make his confession. But how could she honestly flirt when she knew that every word of it would lead to her betrayal? God help her, she’d actually started to _like_ the man. It was a dilemma that kept her up at night.

                “I don’t think so,” she chastised him easily.

                As always, her disinterest was met with casual grace. “Then tell me about your life, Sarah. That very human life of yours.” He folded his arms across his stomach and eased into his pillow. “I’m so tired of anything to do with my world.”

                This was more surprising than the flirting. “Really?”

                “Yes really. Why not?”

                “You never seemed to be interested before.” Actually, he’d always seemed downright _nervous_ whenever she brought up her old life. The fact that he was openly inviting her to speak of it made her think he was growing complacent, assuming she was here to stay. She shifted uncomfortably.

                “I am always interested in what you have to say, Sarah.”

                She peeked at his face. His eyes were closed but his expression was strangely open. That seemed to be happening more often too. As the weeks went by they were growing into what she’d label as a comfortable if bizarre relationship, of sorts. “Well…where should I start?”

                “Wherever you like. What did you do when you left school?”

                “I…I applied for volunteer work at the local library,” she said uncertainly. “Sorting through the stacks, reading to kids, that sort of thing. I thought showing dedication would get me a job there eventually.”

                “And did it?”

                “Not for a few years. I had to work a few different crappy retail jobs for a while. I did stocktake at The Gap; I was a check-out chick. It was pretty terrible but it felt good to be making my own way.” She smiled impishly. “My dad couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t take his money. Karen threw a fit when I said I didn’t want their help.”

                “Why _didn’t_ you take his money?”

                “I learnt a thing or two about taking things for granted,” she told him pointedly. “All my girlfriends were being given new cars and Master Cards. It changed them. I wanted to know how it felt to be responsible for myself. I didn’t want to be in debt to anyone.” A grimace crossed her face. “Especially someone like Karen.”

                “Such a difficult life,” he mocked gently. “Your parents desperate to give you money; growing up in a wealthy community…I don’t know how you survived it.”

                She gave him a shove. “Hey. _You_ wanted to know about me. I’m not saying I had a hard life. I’m just saying I wanted an honest one.”

                “And that’s why I admire you, Sarah,” he replied soberly. Then ruined the moment with a mischievous: “Pray tell, who could have had such a _magical_ impact on a teenage girl, hmm?”

                “I had a few thought-provoking influences,” she answered. “Hoggle, Ludo, Sir Didymus…”

                “Anybody else?”

                She pretended to think. “Hmm. Nope. That’s it.”

                “You wound me, precious.”

                “You humble me, Goblin King.”

                They were silent in the wake of her affectionate statement. Thankfully he didn’t let her squirm for too long, encouraging her to continue. “So you had some different jobs and finished half a semester of University, as I recall you saying once upon a time. What were the consequences of that?”

                “A few steady years of paying off a pointless debt,” Sarah admitted sheepishly. “I guess you could say it defeated the entire purpose of my fight against taking money from home.” She thought nostalgically of long summers working the local swimming pool café, of a hideous six month journey into the world of hospitality. “I don’t regret it though. I learnt a lot about myself. And I met some pretty interesting people. There was this writer who used to come into the diner where I worked. He always had black coffee and a ham-on-rye. He’d write for hours. My manager thought he was cheap for staying so long after he’d eaten, but I didn’t have the heart to move him.” She smiled broadly. “He was the one that inspired me to start my own novel and persist with the library job. I got it, too, after they told me to do some short courses.”

                “What happened to Jeremy?”

                “Oh, he left town eventually. There wasn’t enough to inspire him. I don’t know where he is now.”

                Jareth had tensed beside her and it took a second to understand why. She hadn’t mentioned the writer’s name. _“There were rumours, of course, that he might be going Above. To your world.”_ Wick’s words answered her unspoken question. He _had_ been keeping an eye on her. “It’s my turn to ask a question,” she said boldly. “Why me?”

                He sniffed. “‘Why you’ what?”

                “Jareth.”

“You were interesting,” he answered vaguely.

                “And?”

                “And you’d beaten my Labyrinth. That doesn’t happen very often Sarah.”

                “Is that it?”

                “What more do you want?”

                “I thought you knew; _you_ showed me my dreams once.”

                “I didn’t see them; I merely offered them to you.”

                “Then what was that whole trip with the peach about?”

                Their banter had reached its crescendo. Blinking, Sarah realised she was bent right over Jareth’s face from above, their eyes locked onto each other. Shaking herself out of it she slipped off the lounge away from those soulful eyes.

                Jareth sighed, slumping into the cushions deeper than before. “It’s late,” he spoke into the air, not looking at her. “You should go to sleep.”

                 “Yeah, okay,” she replied quietly, though it wasn’t late and she had no reason to hurry to bed. They bid goodnight to each other awkwardly and returned to their respective quarters.

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m such an _idiot_ ,” Sarah groaned into her pillow.

At Wick’s silence, she raised her head and an accusatory eyebrow. “Well? Aren’t you going to tell me I’m just being dramatic?”

“You _are_ being dramatic,” the Elf replied, picking at his nails idly. “But you’re also being a _tiny_ bit of a…well…what you said.”

“I can’t believe you!” Sarah gasped. “You’ve got some cheek for a servant boy, you know.”

Wick shrugged and grinned self-effacingly. “You told me to be your friend when I’m here, not a servant. Friends don’t lie. And the truth is you’ve been a bit stupid Sarah.”

Sarah threw her pillow at him.

He caught it easily in his nimble hands, smoothing its cover before placing it delicately on the carpet beside him. “You can’t do anything about it, you know.”

“I _know_ ,” Sarah replied with a roll of her eyes. “He’s the Goblin King, what do you think I’m going to do? Make out with him in a dark closet like some drunken college girl?”

“Sarah, I mean it.” Wick’s stern voice made her pay attention. “You cannot let this develop any further. Just do what you came here to do and be done with it as soon as possible.”

His tight-pinched expression worried her, but she was too sick of drama to ask what he was so concerned about. “How am I supposed to do that exactly, Wick?”

                “Winter will be over in a few weeks,” he replied, tracing a pattern into the carpet with a finger. “The Harvest Festival is in spring. That might provide some…opportunities.”

                “Right. Okay.” She crawled toward the edge of her bed and peered down at him. “Let’s pretend I don’t know what the Harvest Festival is…”

                A reluctant smile made his anxious eyes shine. “Ready for another big answer?”

                “You bet.”

                “The Harvest Festival happens once a year in the first week of spring. It’s a Fae custom going back to the Birth of All Things, when this reality came into existence. There’s a place in the palace Highlands called the Field of Lights. It’s a garden of sorts that’s existed since The Birth, too. The Field is full of trees that hold the dreams of every living creature in the Above.”

                Sarah blinked in surprise. “You have a field full of trees that grow human dreams?” she repeated disbelievingly.

                “They don’t _grow_ the dreams, they’re just a vessel,” Wick corrected patiently. “It’s the most ancient form of Creative Magic. The trees collect the dreams of humanity like a power source. You remember I told you this place is sometimes called the Dream Reality?” At Sarah’s nod, he continued. “That’s because the Fae, for however long there have _been_ Fae, have collected the dreams to give life to our reality. We are sustained by the imagination of humans. It’s been that way for as long as we can remember. At the Harvest Festival hundreds of Fae gather over a week to collect the Lights and send them out into the world, to replenish our domain. Those lights in the sky that look like oil on water? They’re out stars, the dreams of your world.”

                What was there to say? She was in a reality that relied on the dreams of people like Sarah to exist. It wasn’t the most far-fetched tale she’d ever heard…but it was the only one that happened to be _real_. Running a hand through her hair, Sarah gave herself some time to process this. “Okay. So that’s why the Fae are so important? They’re the only ones that can harvest these dreams and keep everything running?”

                “Yes. And the reason I bring up The Festival is that it’s quite a moving experience, as you can imagine.” He blushed then, colour blooming slowly across his mint green cheeks. “There’s music and dancing and singing; it’s almost a feverish time. Fae gather from all over the realm to contribute. They’re not a particularly emotional race, except when it comes to the Harvest. If you were to bring Jareth to the festivities, get him to take part in the collection…you might find him a little more eager to share things with you.” He said all this without meeting her gaze.

                It was a good plan. It was a _great_ plan. But she couldn’t muster up the enthusiasm for it. “You’re making me into one of them,” she murmured in a quavering voice. “I don’t like manipulating people, Wick.”

                “I’m just trying to help you, Sarah. I’m sorry.”

                “I know.” She puffed out her cheeks and let out a long breath. “I guess a festival would be pretty interesting.”

                “There’s just one little hiccup.”

                “Of course there is. What’s that?”

                “No one but the Fae is allowed to attend. You’ll have to convince him to take you in disguise.”

                She couldn’t help it. Sarah began to laugh bitterly. They were _really_ going to turn her into a Fae by the time all this was over.

 

* * *

 

 

Spirits in the castle were low when Sarah Williams was unhappy. Not in any shallow sense, Jareth noticed, as when she was casually upset by something or just in a bad mood. But as she was now, adrift in a grey sea of vague lethargy, he couldn’t help observe that it sparked despondency in others too. This winter was proving to be too much for her usually unassailable spirit. The endless days of drifting from room to room, never seeing the sun, never breathing fresh air…it was a time of year the realm was used to. Not his Sarah. His Sarah was a summer flower and she was wilting. He was on his best behaviour around her, being the perfect gentlemen at meal times and withholding from their usual banter for fear of driving her away again. The goblins were with her a lot of the time too, playing card games and entertaining her with stories. But it seemed that each time he saw her she was paler, her hair as dull as her eyes. The frustrated energy she’d had for most of the season was being drained until she became listless.

                It wasn’t until she stopped reading that he decided to take drastic action.

                Unfortunately he hadn’t inherited his father’s talent for weather. It was a tricky magic that involved complicated processes of weaving. He spent days on his project, using every trick his father had ever mentioned, trying to recreate the perfect elements for her. Finally on the fifth day Jareth heaved an exhausted sigh, leaning on the wall to survey his work with pride. Then he withdrew a crystal, seeking out Sarah. Finding her slumped in a chair by the fireplace of her drawing room, he willed himself there excitedly.

                “Hey,” she offered mildly, smile not quite reaching her eyes. In a white sweater and cream pants, she looked almost a ghost next to the dancing flames of the fireplace.

                “I have a present for you,” he announced, holding out a hand.

                “You’ve already given me the library,” she replied, going to him. “How are you going to top that?”

                “Close your eyes,” he instructed, relishing the urge to grin as she did so and he took them away. They arrived in a corridor lined with three doors. With his hands on Sarah’s shoulders Jareth leaned in and spoke into her ear. “Choose a door.”

                Opening her eyes, Sarah took in the sight of the three plain doors in front of her and smiled with curious confusion. He met her questioning expression with an encouraging nod and a flourish of his hand.

                “What have you been up to?” Sarah asked, stepping towards the door on the far left.

                He said nothing, only held his breath as she turned the handle and stepped hesitantly inside.

                “Oh my god, _sun!_ ” she cried gleefully, gasping with sheer delight.

                Chuckling, he followed her inside.

                Sarah stood in the middle of a stretch of sand beneath a vibrant summer sky. There were no visible walls, no boundaries the eye could see, only an endless stretch of ocean that broke along the shoreline and vanished into the distance. The squawk of far off birds and the taste of salt spray surrounded them. The heat from the sun was definitely not like the spell he used to keep the castle warm. This heat was raw and revitalising, causing Sarah to shiver with delight. He watched as she kicked off her shoes and dug her toes into the sand, tilting her head up towards the sun. Her face was the epitome of sheer bliss.

                “It’s just an illusion, of course,” he murmured, coming to stand beside her. “You can only move a few feet, I just thought –”

                “Ssssh,” she hushed him, eyes closing against the delicate breeze. “It’s incredible. Just listen.”

                Jareth didn’t listen. How could he care for the sound of wind when she grinned like that? How could the sun’s heat compare to the fire she stoked within him?

                Then Sarah opened her eyes, took one look at him and burst out laughing.

                The fire was doused. He frowned. “ _What_?” he demanded indignantly, though her laugh reminded him of wooden wind chimes, earthy and light.

                “You’re not exactly dressed for the beach,” she giggled, gesturing at him. He wore a mixture of black and deepest blue, tight pants with leather boots and a long coat made of thick crow’s feathers. “You look like a bat that’s stumbled onto Baywatch.” When he clearly didn’t understand the reference she only laughed again.

                “Well then, I don’t suppose you’d want to see the rest of your present?” he sniffed.

                She quietened immediately. “There’s more?”

                “Of course there’s more. I told you to pick _a_ door, didn’t I? Come come Sarah, pay attention.”

                Still visibly holding in a chuckle Sarah followed him into the next room. It was a dirt road lined with autumn-touched trees like a world on fire. They walked into the midst of it together, the crisp wind tugging their hair. Sarah was quiet beside him, taking in the sight of so many shades of orange as familiar as her childhood. He’d needed a few references for this room; the Fae world didn’t have autumn. She bent down and picked up a leaf the colour of burnt caramel. She crunched it into a ball in her first, delighting in the crackling sounds. “Now this suits you,” she told him kindly. “You could greet the kids at the door on Halloween.”

                This reference he understood, but he didn’t quiet enjoy the thought of her associating him with nights of horror. At his sour expression she playfully nudged his arm and asked to see the last room.

                This was his particular favourite. “You said you’d like a normal winter,” he announced mildly, undermining the grandness of the scene before them. Snow crunched satisfyingly beneath their feet as they walked an empty street. Lamp posts glittered alongside them with fervent yellow lights to show the way. The sky above was blue like midnight in Paris and splashed with winking stars. _Real_ stars, like the ones from Above. She felt a tear in her eye at the sight she’d missed. Tiny flurries of snow whirled around them until Sarah shivered and huddled into Jareth’s side, her cheeks flushing pink. “Are you cold?” he asked with concern but she shook her head.

                “It’s a nice kind of cold,” she told him. The world was silent and still, just them and the snow and the stars. “This is so beautiful. Thank you, Jareth. Really. _Thank you_.” She abruptly stopped him in the street and worked her way into his arms, hugging him firmly against her. The top of her head rested just beneath his chin; his eyes fluttered closed as he inhaled her scent.

                Later, she would ask politely why he hadn’t given her spring as well. He would tell her that the real thing would be coming along soon enough and his work couldn’t possibly compare. He wouldn’t tell her that while there was nothing in the world he wouldn’t give her, he could not give her spring. It was not his to give. Spring would belong forever and a day to Lina. He would hold this truth inside and ache with the weight of it, only feeling better when he pictured stars and snow and black hair pressed into his chin.   

 

* * *

     

Sarah would never drink again. It was a cliché reaction to one hell of a hangover but she was certain she meant it. At least, she would never drink goblin ale again. Apparently it affected her twice as much as alcohol from the Above. With winter beginning to thaw Jareth had been gone for almost a week. She’d been going mad worrying about what might’ve been happening with the hordes. She seemed to suffer an endless amount of guilt since learning the consequences of her escape attempt. Hoggle had suggested a few quiet drinks to take her mind off things but it hadn’t taken long for those few quiet drinks to become many and loud. There’d been laughter and dancing and a few games of drunken hide and seek. She’d learnt that Didymus could play the dulcimer and hold his liquor surprisingly well for a tiny thing. Ludo had proven himself adept at belching contests, though still without saying a word. And she’d discovered that Hoggle was a bad influence – they’d gotten into a food fight in the kitchen.

                She barely remembered any of this of course, though evidence of the food fight was hard to miss. The four of them were in the kitchen now, wishing the Goblin King would appear and use his magic to clean up. _It would save us a lot of scrubbing_ , Sarah thought wistfully as she attempted to gouge out sodden flour from the floor tiles. Occasionally there would be a regretful groan or a sickly burp from the goblins but mostly they worked in silence. Her head ached too much for conversation. At least being miserably hungover distracted her from thoughts of Jareth. He’d been looking healthier with his little winter break. The last time she’d seen him though his face had started to take on the unpleasantly familiar gauntness of old. She found herself hoping he was at least trying to take care of himself while working, even if he didn’t have time for meals with her.

                “Sarah? You listenin’?”

                “Hmm?” she turned slowly to keep her head from spinning. “Did you say something Hoggle?”

                “He asked if you would care to lie down, my lady,” Didymus squeaked. He was currently sweeping the remnants of vegetables into a pile for Ludo to collect. “Hoggle doth think you suffer the most between us all. You may well benefit from sleep.”

                “I’m fine, boys. I’m a big girl.”

                “A big girl who can’t hold no goblin ale, that’s for sure,” Hoggle teased. “We said it were strong stuff, didn’t we? Told yer to go easy.”

                Sarah had a sudden flashback to her late teens at his words: _she was seventeen and trying whiskey for the first time. She’d pilfered it from her father’s liquor cabinet one night while babysitting. Troy was keeping her company, unbeknownst to her parents. He was a year older than her and smelled like cigarettes. The whiskey burned her throat on the way down; she spluttered and coughed. Troy laughed._

_“I said it was strong stuff, Sarah. Go easy.”_

_He was kissing her to soothe away the sting when her father and stepmother came home. Oh, the **shouting**. Not from her father; Robert was rarely angry. But Karen was unbearable and practically yanked Troy out the door by his ear. She was grounded for a month._

Oddly enough, the memory made Sarah miss her father. He had consoled her days later as she’d brooded in her room. He’d never been a discipline-heavy parent. Instead she remembered him trying to bond with her over similar stories from his teenage years. She’d been embarrassed at the time to hear about such exploits, but now she realised he’d been trying to say that kids did stupid things and that was totally normal. As long as she was careful, he’d said. Tears welled in her eyes.

                “What do they think happened to me?” she asked in a whisper.

                The goblins ceased their actions and stared at her in concern.

                “I beg your pardon, sweet lady?” Didymus asked softly.

                “My family,” Sarah answered, wiping a wayward tear from her cheek. “Do they think I’ve been kidnapped? Are they looking for me?” She thought of how Toby and Alice would be feeling and the pain in her heart was worse than any headache.

                “Err, don’t yer know what happens when a child is lost to the King?” Hoggle asked quietly. “I thought he’d have said so.”

                “He didn’t,” she answered, giving up on scrubbing to slump against the kitchen cabinets. “And I didn’t think to ask. How horrible is that? They’re probably thinking I’ve been murdered and I’m here getting drunk with friends.” She pressed a hand to her face that burned red with shame.

                “Well, I wouldn’t be frettin’ about nothin’ like that,” Hoggle said carefully. “Only I don’t know that you’ll like what actually happens, either.”

                “Tell me, Hoggle. I want to know.”

                But Hoggle never liked being the bearer of bad news. He dipped his head and concentrated on wringing out a sponge. Ludo shuffled over and plonked himself beside Sarah, resting a giant hand on her knee. Didymus took it upon himself to explain.

                “Are you certain you wish to know, dear one?” squeaked the little goblin.

                “I’m sure, Didymus,” Sarah replied, steeling herself. “Please.”

                “Well, you see…when a child is wished away and is not won back, it doth reside in the Goblin Realm. You know this much. But then there is the matter of what the families of your Above world think when they learn that their offspring have disappeared. In order to keep our world secret, and to protect families from despair…the Goblin King casts a forgetting spell on the relatives of the wished away.” Didymus paused here, his moustache twitching nervously as he gauged Sarah’s reaction. “He…that is to say…you have been erased from their memories, my lady. Sarah Williams does not exist Above any longer.”

                 Hoggle had stared at his sponge throughout this entire explanation. Ludo was stroking her knee comfortingly. Sarah’s eyes widened. “They don’t…they don’t remember me? At all? I’m just…gone, just like that?”

                “Indeed, it is true,” Didymus sighed. “It is not a nice subject to speak of, but it is the way things are. Perhaps the King is being kind, in a way.”

                “How is that kind? My little brother and sister have no idea who I am!” Sarah shouted. The noise made her head throb anew. “My father, my mother, Karen…they’re all just going on with their lives as if I’m not stuck here paying my dues to save Toby!”

                “Ain’t it kinder, this way?” Hoggle piped up. “Ignorance is bliss, and all that. Sarah, think about it. Do you _wants_ them to be cryin’ and sad an’ wonderin’ where their Sarah is?”

                It made sense but before Sarah could form a coherent response they heard a very loud crash from the upper levels that resounded in the echoing stone hallways.

                “What in the Fate’s design was that?” Hoggle grumbled.

“An intruder!” Didymus yelled excitedly. “An intruder in the castle! I must inspect this immediately! Come, sir Ludo!” He went tearing around the corner full of energy with a not-so-eager Ludo lumbering behind.

Sarah got to her feet, ignoring her swimming head, and kept pace with Hoggle as they followed the others towards the noise. They heard shouting in a familiar voice and traced it to Sarah’s quarters. In a hallway near her bedroom they found two figures: one on the floor and the other towering over it. Sarah’s mouth fell open in shock. Wick was crumpled at Jareth’s feet, terror plain on his face as the Goblin King stood over him in menacing black armour.

“I know what you are doing here, you insipid little worm,” he spat at the Elf. “I know my mother has sent you here to spy on me. I have seen you lurking in the corners whenever we meet. Do you think me stupid?” he leant further over the Elf, one hand pressed into the wall, the other in a tight fist. Wick was shaking. “My mother is a nasty, insidious creature of no morality and I don’t give a damn if you report _that_ to her, but understand this: if you _ever_ think to sneak into Sarah’s room again, if you _ever_ set foot in my castle…I will tear at that green skin of yours until it becomes very, _very_ red –”

                “Stop!” Sarah screamed, pushing her way to the front of her group of friends. “Don’t you touch him!”

                Wick stared at her imploringly from the floor, eyes wide and mouth quivering. A fierce protectiveness overwhelmed her. She barely registered Jareth as she knelt down beside her friend. “Are you all right?” she asked urgently, helping Wick to his feet. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were looking for me.” Wick couldn’t speak. She felt his hand trembling in hers. “He’s my friend, Jareth. I met him in the Labyrinth years ago and I’ve been inviting him here for some company. Back the hell off…” she’d finally turned to face the Goblin King at the end of her tirade. The breath left her at the sight of him.

                He was smeared with blood. It splattered his armour, glistening horrifically against the shiny black. Tiny constellations of crimson splashed across his face and hair. There were dark circles under his eyes and a slight tremor in his frame that suggested he was either about to pass out or he was furious. Probably both. Sarah felt the strong urge to cry. Words failed her. Clutching Wick’s shaking hand she made to move towards Jareth but he took a step back in silence.

                “Jareth…” she whispered, reaching out. He vanished before she could touch him.

                “I’m sorry Sarah,” Wick finally managed to croak. “You weren’t in your room, and I thought I could just poke around the hall in case you were close...he thought I was spying on you.”

                Sarah was barely listening. Jareth’s blood splattered face filled her mind. “No _I’m_ sorry, Wick. Really.” She shook herself out of a horrified stupor and looked at her friend. “Are you sure you’re okay? He didn’t hurt you?”

                “No, he didn’t hurt me.” Wick licked his lips. “I came to tell you about what happened in the Labyrinth…but I think maybe you should talk to the Goblin King about it.” He gently pried her hand from his. “Go find him. I think he needs someone.”

                Sarah nodded; her head was clouded with worry and her heart raw with guilt. She turned to her friends without truly seeing them. The goblins had been silent in shock throughout the whole ordeal. “This is Wick, boys. Could you fix him a drink before he goes home? Make sure he’s okay?”

                “Of course, my lady,” Didymus stammered, nonplussed.

                Hoggle eyed the Elf warily but nodded. He would do anything for her.

                “I’m going to look for him,” Sarah told them needlessly as she started in the direction of Jareth’s private rooms.

 

* * *

 

 

_“I know it’s difficult for you to follow orders Sarah but know this: if you enter my study, I will **not** be pleased. That is my one rule. Do you understand?”_

                He’d said that to her at some point in their dismal first few days together. _To hell with that_ , Sarah thought now, having searched everywhere else in his quarters and not found Jareth. It was the final place for her to mark off before searching another part of the castle and she’d be damned if she was going to let him hide in his study now. Approaching the wooden door carved with a crown she knocked a few times. When nobody answered she let herself in. It was a plain old study, a place of work like any other. There were books lining one wall and a heavy wooden desk against the window. The room had a gravitas to it that made her uncomfortable though she couldn’t say why. Moving to stand at the desk Sarah took in the view through the glass: she could see the entire perimeter of the web garden stretched out from here. It was beautiful in the midday light, the webs still white with frost and reflecting the sun a thousandfold.  

                It was almost too bright to look at. Squinting, Sarah averted her eyes from the brightness and found an open notebook sitting on the desk. It was thick and leather bound but made up of thousands of thin pages. There were similar ones like it piled on the corner of the desk. Curiously Sarah picked up the book, recognising it as some kind of ledger as she rifled through hundreds of names and labels and dates. A familiar name flashed quickly before her eyes and she felt a chill run down her spine. Flipping back to the page, Sarah sank into the chair behind her.

                _Tobias Williams,_ it said on the page. Then, in the category beside it: _Retrieved by sibling in 1986 (Above years)._ Sarah scanned down the list of names but not a single one had the word retrieved on it. Possessed by a sudden idea she flipped to the back of the book and found the most recent entries. After a few minutes of searching, she found it: _Sarah Williams. Acquired as payment for Alice and Tobias Williams, siblings, in 1996 (Above years).  Erased._

                So Didymus was right; she’d been wiped free of memory from her own world. Feeling a lump in her throat Sarah continued down the list. There were so many others, hundreds of names:  

_Billie Austen. Acquired. Sibling failed Labyrinth._

_Jonathan Summers. Acquired. Mother failed Labyrinth._

_Zabina Singh. Dead. Sibling dead._

_Maria Hill. Dead. Cousin dead._

_Sophie Barton. Dead._

_Anthony. Dead._

_Jose. Dead._

On and on it went.  The list of those wished away and acquired by the Goblin King evolved into a list of the dead. Sarah read with tears in her eyes. Every day Jareth had to live this life. He had to take children, watch their relations die in the Labyrinth, watch the children die at the hands of his awful goblins. And worse, her escape attempt had pushed the monsters into rebellion. It was _her_ fault that the word death followed these people’s names. Along with what Wick had told her of Jareth’s recent unpleasant duties, she now understood why he looked so haunted. She sniffed, wiping her thumb across the page as if to soothe the children long gone.

 “It’s not a nice read, is it Sarah?”

“ _Jesus Christ_ ,” she swore in shock, dropping the book roughly. Searching a poorly lit corner of the room she found Jareth slumped against the bookshelf. His knees were drawn up, his arms crossed over them. His head rested against the shelf behind him. He was no longer wearing the armour but still stained with blood. “How long have you been sitting there?”

“I used to like red, once upon a time,” he said distantly. His eyes were unfocused and his fingers thrummed a lamenting rhythm against his calves. “But no longer. I have seen far too much red in my lifetime, Sarah. Far too much.”

“Jareth, you’re scaring me.” She had never said that to him before but it was truer than ever in that moment. More than that, she was scared _for_ him.

“You cowered before me, I was frightening,” he murmured, closing his eyes.

Sarah knelt before him warily. “Are you hurt?” she asked softly.

“Oh, you mean this?” he absently rubbed fingers across his chin; they came away stained with blood. “It isn’t mine.”

She wasn’t sure if that made anything better or worse. Still, he couldn’t just sit there like that. Getting to her feet she found a water pitcher on a stand and set it beside him on the floor. Then she removed her jacket and soaked a corner of it with water. Jareth neither spoke nor moved as she gently wiped his face clean. His eyes drifted shut at her touch. _Will I always be fixing you up?_ Sarah wondered distantly, sponging his cheek with the damp fabric. The dry blood in his hair wouldn’t come out; he’d have to wash that himself.

“There, that’s a little better,” she murmured with a last tender press to his jaw. Jareth’s eyes flickered open, his hand keeping hers in place against him. His touch was feather-light, wary of rejection. She offered no resistance, relaxing momentarily into their shared glance.

“Thank you, Sarah.” Jareth’s voice was as delicate as his touch.

“I told you to take better care of yourself,” she chastised gently, setting aside the ruined sweater and the water to sit beside him against the shelves. “What _happened_?”

 “What do you _think_ happened, precious?” he replied in a pained voice. “You’ve read the ledger. My Labyrinth has become a slaughterhouse. I bathe in the blood of humanity.”

They were quiet for a long time, side by side in a dark room with their dark thoughts. Eventually Sarah could take it no longer. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, bursting into tears. “This is all my fault! I’m _so_ sorry Jareth – I should have let them take me – you should have left me there –”

He engulfed her in his arms, stifling her cries against his throat slick with sweat and dried blood. “ _Never_ ,” he said hoarsely into her hair. “Do you hear me Sarah? _Never_.”

The exposed skin of his neck was hot and she brushed it with her lips accidentally while stifling her sobs. He tasted of salt but that might have just been her tears. Wiping her eyes, she sighed against his chest. “How can you stand it? Every day?”

He did not release her. “Because the alternative is unthinkable.”

What could be so bad that _this_ was preferable? “What’s the alternative?”

He was silent for so long that she thought he would never answer. Then he spoke so quietly that she almost didn’t hear it. “My sister and I are carved from two different stones,” he began unexpectedly. “While I have the misfortune of inheriting much from our mother, Lina was graced with the qualities of our father. She is the spring and summer to my bitter eternal winter.” His voice grew strong with obvious devotion.

Sarah listened intently, feeling her own heart race against the steady rhythm of his. He’d never shared such personal information with her before.

“My people were kinder once upon a time,” he continued in a harder tone. “But we have existed a thousand years for every one of your human lifespans. I think living too long has caused us to lose a great deal of compassion and tolerance. The earth beneath our feet is our only guaranteed companion in a life that may stretch on for centuries. So the Fae have become guarded, burdened with the need for self-preservation. But Lina…” she heard a smile in his haunted voice. “She is the most _human_ Fae I have ever known.”

Sarah reluctantly pulled away from his arms so that she could study him. There was a ghost of a smile on his thin lips. He seemed to be envisioning someone before them; his wide eyes were shadowed with longing. “I was a scholar for many years when we were young. Knowledge and arts fascinated me. I wanted to wax philosophic with the greats of our time. I wanted to travel the realms and publish books on my findings. I had…many a dream.” His reminiscent smile was thin and faded all too soon. “And as my sister was destined to become the next Fae Queen, I was afforded the time to study what I wished. But when Lina and I were barely ninety years old our father was killed.”

“But I thought you were immortal?” Sarah enquired.

“Time is ours to control, Sarah, but the Fae can still die in many ways. My father was the victim of poison meant for my mother.” Sarah’s gasp had little effect on him. The story was a living thing, breaking free of Jareth like a creature beyond control. “He was a kind Fae, too trusting to last. I never understood what he saw in my mother. She seemed quick to forgive herself for getting him killed… but I have never been able to.” With every word the heat was drawn from his eyes until nothing but cold black was left. Yet the tale told itself in his anguished voice, heedless of the aching details. “In the years following Lina sought comfort in growing close to an Elf community with whom my father had formed a respectful relationship. But she fell in love with an Elf, the first Fae to do so in countless centuries. Mother was furious. It’s against our laws to be in a relationship with any but our own kind.”

At this Jareth surfaced momentarily from the drowning waters of his past. Sarah became his sole focus. He looked at her with eyes so full of meaning that she felt her heart start to beat like a hummingbird. _Oh god,_ she thought. _It’s true. He does._ She cleared her throat, intending to ask a less desperate question but all she could say was: “ _Why?”_

The tone of her voice was echoed in the look he gave her. “We are too few and too important,” he said without a trace of arrogance. “Though we possess longevity we are greatly outnumbered by many other races…those that rely on us to maintain our whole reality. We can’t afford to let our community disperse. And Lina…”

The past returned to engulf and remind him of his old grief. Sarah found herself releasing a pent up breath as he finally took his eyes off her. “Lina is the next in line to the throne. She couldn’t be allowed to stray from such a path. So Mother had the Elf executed and assigned Lina to three centuries as Goblin Queen for punishment, to remind her of what was at stake.” His next words were a desperate whisper: “But I couldn’t let that happen.”

He didn’t seem to notice as she placed a comforting hand on his arm. “Lina would never survive this position. She’s too kind, too soft. I don’t mean to say that she’s weak in any way…but her heart is too pure for the duties I perform. If the goblins didn’t tear her apart in an instant, she’d have lost her soul within the month. So I begged to go in her place. I argued that killing her lover was punishment enough, though it took some persistence to convince my heartless mother of that. But she agreed eventually…and here we are.”

It took a while for Sarah to comprehend all that she’d heard. Amidst her scattered thoughts a particular notion was glowing hot and bright in her mind: Jareth was here for the same reasons she was. They were saving their siblings. “You…you gave up everything?” she managed to ask finally.

“Lina was my everything,” he replied simply.

“Where is she now?”

His expression was one of utmost longing. “In a wasteland called the Dust Bowl. She’s a peacekeeper. Mother thought it would serve as adequate punishment whilst teaching her necessary skills. I imagine she must be quite the mediator now.”

“Don’t you see her?”

Jareth shook his head. “She’s forbidden to contact me. I haven’t seen her for one hundred and twelve years.”

“ _What?!_ ” Sarah cried. _And here I am crying about a few months away from home!_

                “You understand now, don’t you Sarah? I bear that ledger’s report of misery so that my sister doesn’t ever have to.”

                 He looked different to her now. The arrogance of his ways seemed to her a shield to protect himself. The coldness she’d glimpsed in his eyes now spoke of impossibly unfair decisions forced upon a brother. As far as she could see, they were both as good as trapped here in this castle. How could she resent him for seeking out something kind in a world that punished love? No, Jareth was not the villain here. Slowly Sarah laid her head down on his shoulder. “I don’t think you inherited anything from your mother,” she murmured, feeling him relax under her cheek.

“Thank you,” he replied just as quietly.

                He smelt of blood and water, salt and earth. She closed her eyes and leaned into him. “I don’t exist Above anymore, do I?” she murmured.

                He was quiet for a moment. “The goblins told you?”

                “Yeah. Can you…can it be reversed?”

                “It can, with difficulty,” he replied slowly. “But you know they’d suffer for their memory of you.”

                “I know.” She sighed. “It was just a thought.”

                “Sarah.”

                One word, yet it was enough to make her seek out his gaze. His soul seemed to shine in his eyes; it made her think of snow melting.

                “For what it’s worth…” he ventured, “I never meant for things to happen this way.”

                “You mean taking me as payment?” An unexpected nervousness made her tease him.

                “Oh Sarah,” Jareth breathed, his face impossibly close. “You will never understand that it is _I_ who will pay the price for you.”

                But Sarah _did_ understand, more than she ever thought possible. Oh and how she knew this feeling well, the emotion pooling in her heart in response to his proximity. It meant more than simple attraction. Thoughts of flying and falling whirled through her mind. It meant…that she was in trouble.

                Lina’s lover had been _killed._ Would Sarah be equally disposed of after all this was over? The sensation of flying became one of total panic, as if she were being tossed over a cliff.

                “What’s the matter?” Jareth enquired, frowning.

                “I…I have to go. I’m sorry.” She got clumsily to her feet feeling weak with anxiety.

                “Sarah?”

                But she couldn’t answer. She as good as had a death warrant hanging over her head. Fury drove her into a frenzied run as she sought out her bedroom. Anger with the Queen pounded through her like a physical heat: anger over her treatment of her own children, of the way she’d manipulated Sarah into this whole charade, of the fact that she hadn’t at all mentioned that Sarah would _die_ just like Lina’s poor Elf. She was so mad when she finally arrived at the mirror in her bedroom that she nearly cracked the glass, thumping on it as she did.

                “I demand to meet with the Queen of the Fae Domain!” she roared, her reflection fading into an empty black space beneath her pounding fist. On the third hit her hand disappeared into the glass and she wasted no time in hauling herself up onto her vanity and through the gateway.

                She arrived directly in front of the Queen on her throne. “You sound upset, Miss Williams,” said the frosty Fae woman without a touch of concern. “Why have you so rudely demanded my time?”

                “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?!” Sarah shouted without preamble, pacing before the marble throne. “You sneaky, lying, hateful woman – I can’t believe you didn’t tell me – you –” she choked on her words as a powerful invisible force held her in place.

                “I suggest you calm yourself, Miss Williams, before you say anything that might count as treason.” The Queen smoothed her dress in casual boredom as though talking of the weather. “Now, what are you talking about?”

“You killed the Elf that Lina was in love with,” Sarah spat when she could talk again. “That’s why you’re so hell bent on punishing Jareth, isn’t it? Because he’s doing the same thing Lina did and you can’t stand that your own children disobeyed you. And you’re going to kill me too, aren’t you?”

                For a brief moment the Queen actually looked surprised. “I am not intending to execute you, Sarah,” she responded calmly. “You are not an accomplice in my son’s crime.”

It took Sarah a moment to calm down enough to respond. “What?”

“What happened between my daughter and that Elf was reciprocal. If you were to share Jareth’s sentiment, to act on it…matters would be different,” she explained in a voice laden with warning. “But as it stands you are nothing more than a victim here.” She arched a brow in silent question, daring Sarah to attest otherwise.

“I want your word,” Sarah demanded.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your word,” Sarah repeated. “I want your promise that you won’t kill, imprison or hurt me in any way when this is over. If Jareth confesses, you can’t touch me.”

                The Queen considered her carefully. “What you are asking is more than a promise, child.”

“I’m not a child,” Sarah hissed. “I’m an adult in my own world with a family and a life that I treasure and I won’t let you trick me into giving any of that up. I want your _word_ , your Majesty.” Those inscrutable eyes flicked over Sarah from top to bottom, measuring every ounce of the confidence she was trying to convey. A thought seized her and she hurried to speak it before the Queen could respond. “ _And_ I want you to reverse the erasing spell on my existence when I return home. And grant freedom to the three goblins that still live in the castle. They’re my friends.”

The Fae waved a hand and the mirror Sarah had come from flashed to show Toby and Alice at school, waiting to be picked up. They seemed to be blatantly ignoring one another in the midst of a childish fight. “May I remind you that you aren’t in a position to be making demands, Miss Williams?”

Sarah’s heart clenched at the sight in the mirror but she forced herself to remain strong. If Jareth could do it for Lina, she could do it for them. She dragged her gaze away from the image and glared resolutely at the Queen. “Might I remind _you_ that without me you’re going to have a pretty serious goblin problem on your hands? Jareth is living this life to save Lina, you know that right? I’m a lot like him. Can you imagine what I would do to keep my family away from you?”

The smile she received was brittle as old bones. “You’re a _human,_ Sarah.”

“I know. It makes me way more dangerous than any dusty old Fae.”

 _Hold your gaze, Sarah_ , she thought to herself under the Queen’s iron-hard scrutiny. _Don’t you dare back down now._

“Very well.” The words were sharp as a blade but relief washed through Sarah at the sound of them. “Come here.”

Sarah stepped forward and reached out an uncertain hand in response to the pallid one that was being offered to her. The Queen grasped Sarah’s left wrist in a painfully tight hold and blistering heat suffused their joint skin.

                “I give my word as Queen of the Fae Domain that you will come to no harm should Jareth El’Maven be arrested for his crime. I pledge to restore your existence in the Above upon your return to it and I vow to grant freedom to your friends in the castle.” Her grip became even tighter, making Sarah wince in pain. “However, if you reciprocate his feelings then you must accept the full consequences of your actions. This is my vow. May I hold myself to it from now until the Last Days.” She let go of Sarah and reclined once more in her seat, her face etched from stone. “There. You have your promise. Now leave my palace; I am tired of arrogant humans.”

                Holding out her tender wrist, Sarah nodded in response before climbing back through the mirror without a word. When she was safe in her room she inspected her skin. There was a blistered thin ring of pastel blue encircling her entire wrist. It glowed faintly silver in the light. Sarah resigned herself to finding some sort of bangle to hide it from view, hoping it would stop hurting soon. The headache that had somehow been forgotten in the midst of the morning’s insanity now returned tenfold.

                “God Sarah,” she moaned to herself. “What the hell have you gotten yourself into?”

 

 


	8. Beginning of the End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has anybody else's love for Bowie evolved in this way?:   
> A few years ago: is this David Bowie? DIdn't know that. I like this song.  
> A year ago: Oh, he does this too? Another good song.  
> Few months ago: I like the Ziggy album, it's good. I don't find him attractive at all though.  
> Now: HAS EVERY ALBUM EVER RELEASED OF HIM AND OMG HE'S SO BEAUTIFUL I WANT TO CRY AND PEOPLE I DON'T EVEN KNOW VERY WELL ARE AWARE OF MY LOVE FOR BOWIE. Before there was Bowie there was NOTHING.  
> Ahem. Just what I've been experiencing the last few months.   
> But anyway back to the story:  
> Wow. I'm actually out of breath from writing that. What a big one! I'm going to be busy for the next few days so I don't know when the next update will come but it will be as soon as possible!   
> I love you all for taking the time to read and comment and give kudos and just exist in this fandom! xxx

**Beginning of the End**

 

The bathwater was hot enough to burn, just the way Jareth liked it. The blistering heat was a balm as he submerged himself. It felt good to hurt in a way he could control; the instant flushing of his skin to a bright red felt cleansing. He stayed beneath the surface, listening to his echoing heartbeat, until the images of blood and death faded from memory. When his soul was quiet once more he resurfaced with a muted gasp, hair plastered to his face, resting both arms against the cool porcelain edge. Red clouds rose from his skin and dispersed like ink in water. He watched distantly as the grim evidence of his day’s work melted away into nothing. A faint metallic tang reached his nose. He must look a terrible jester, blood and water like paint trickling down his ashen cheeks.

                Outside the wind hurled itself against the windows like a demon desperate for entry. He imagined trees being uprooted and unfortunate birds being tossed about until their poor necks broke. The weather was always at its most violent towards the end of winter, reminiscent of a feral creature sensing its inevitable demise, eager to go down fighting. He was glad to finally be inside again, even if he’d been too late to see Sarah before she went to bed.

                Jareth summoned fruit from the bowl he’d found outside his bedroom door. Sarah often left him snacks when he didn’t return in time for dinner. Tonight was a bowl of peaches, ripe and sweet. He wondered ruefully if she was trying to make a point with that, juice dripping down his chin as he leant back against the headrest and closed his eyes. If only she were here, her slick back pressed into his chest, he could feel truly content. If only.

                He shouldn’t have told her about Lina. While things were no different between them, he could sense reluctance on her part to engage in anymore flirting. He suspected he’d scared her with tales of punishment for loving the Fae.

                “You’re a fool, Jareth,” he grumbled with a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. The half-eaten peach was cast aside, no longer appealing. Maybe he could have kept her a secret from his mother, if he hadn’t said anything. Maybe they could have happily fallen in love and healed the Goblin Kingdom together without Mira ever knowing of Sarah’s existence, if only he’d kept his mouth shut. But that day had pushed him too far. His brief winter respite with Sarah had softened him and he’d been utterly broken by a gruesome death in the Labyrinth. And she’d tended to him with obvious affection and concern, had cried and clung to him like she’d been broken too. How could he have turned her away, told her nothing? He couldn’t have, and that was why he sat there alone trying to wash away his torment.

 

* * *

 

 

“Do you think they’re all really different without me?” Sarah asked of her friends, toying with the leather bracelet she’d found to cover her marked wrist. It’d stopped hurting but she couldn’t help feeling a little sick each time she saw it.

“I’ll bets they have an easier time tryin’ to eat,” Hoggle grumbled half-heartedly. “How’s a goblin supposed to get by if you keep winnin’ his lunch?”

“I suggest you attempt to play a little better, my good fellow,” piped up Didymus.

Ludo’s laugh was a low rumble that sent his pile of cookies toppling over.

They were playing poker and using their lunch as betting chips. Sarah had won a few times now and Hoggle’s supply was running low. “But really though, it’s weird to think what’s changed because Sarah Williams wasn’t there.” She raised the bet by a quarter of sandwich. “Maybe my mum and dad never split up.” The thought was purely fantasy; Sarah was well aware that her parents’ divorce had had nothing to do with their daughter. Still, it tickled her to think of the possibility that they might be living a happily married life together. Then she remembered the Queen’s threatening mirror image of Toby and Alice, and her bubble burst. _God, I’ll bet they’re both absolute **nightmares** with nobody to save them from Karen’s influence._

“Maybe they get to eat a full meal,” Hoggle grumped.

“Oh, here then,” Sarah rolled her eyes and threw him a few of her crackers. “If you didn’t want to play for food you should have said so.”

He snatched them up greedily. “I ain’t got nothin’ against playin’ for food,” he mumbled through a mouthful of cracker. “I just didn’t expect to lose, is all. Dwarves _invented_ poker, yer know.”

“One should never underestimate Miss Sarah Williams, good sir,” Didymus chastised his friend. “She is a force to be reckoned with, even for a knight such as myself. I will gladly concede to her greatness any day.” He folded his hand.

 “ _Thank_ you Didymus,” Sarah gushed in a pointedly sweet voice, winking cheekily at Hoggle. “You see? _He_ understands how fantastic I am.”

 Sawah wonderful.”

Jaws around the table dropped as one. Hands froze mid-air. Sarah, Didymus and Hoggle exchanged shocked glances. “Ludo – did you – did you say something?” Sarah stuttered.

The hulking goblin flashed his fangs at her in a broad grin. “Sawah wonderful,” he said again. His voice was just as she remembered it: lumbering, careful, full of meaning though short of words. Sarah jumped to her feet with overwhelming joy.

“Oh my god! Ludo! You spoke!” she cried happily, scattering the cards in her effort to reach him. Hoggle and Didymus cheered, the little goblin clapping with delight and the former dwarf throwing triumphant hands up into the air. Ludo swallowed her up in a crushing hug, repeating the two words again as she placed a chaste kiss on his bumpy forehead. Why he chose that moment to speak she couldn’t understand. She’d spent months trying to engage him in conversation with no result. For Ludo to find his voice in such a commonplace moment of easy companionship was a shock indeed.

They celebrated by throwing their cards to the floor and digging into the winnings with delight, chuckling and shaking their heads in disbelief. Didymus did a sweet little jig on the table. It was an unexpected lunch, certainly. Sarah ate with her friends whom she had grown to love as family. For a brief while she was granted peace of mind. She stopped thinking about the Above and her future and goblin hordes and sacrifice. She was immersed in this world, with this strange little family she had found. As she dipped cookies into milk and wiped crumbs from her lips with the back of her hand, Sarah felt wonderfully content.

 

* * *

 

 

 “You want me to _what_?”

Sarah had prepared herself for Wick’s reluctance. She let him pace the floor a while, patiently scanning through fresh pages of her novel as she waited for his panic to wear itself out. It wasn’t an appealing favour, truth-be-told. The Elf had already gone to so much trouble for her, gathering information on the goblins and the royal family. She’d learnt a lot about Jareth’s daily duties and had been able to better support him because of it.

The Goblin King wasn’t even aware of it yet Sarah was able to be there with distractions and kind words whenever she knew of bad days. And she would conveniently place herself in Jareth’s way on good days, pressuring him into letting her help with the rebellion. It was a system that seemed to be working, at least in terms of sustaining Jareth’s sanity. Sharing the burden with her, however small a part of it that was, seemed to be good for him. They spent many hours together discussing negotiation tactics and proposals.

Her Summer Room was a common place they would inhabit. Not just because she craved the sunshine, either. Jareth had taken to wearing nothing but a crumpled pair of grey pants rolled up to the knees as they sat in the sand. His dulcet tones would speak of the politics of goblin conduct and she’d nod occasionally, finding it hard to follow. There was an undeniable allure to his vulnerability in those moments, the sun gleaming on his taut skin, his bare feet burrowing into the sand. It was a sight she’d allowed herself to indulge in more than once under the pretence of helpful conversation. Her resolve to be more emotionally distant with him had had no hope of lasting too long, if she was honest. His eyes were quickly becoming the deep wells into which she fell further each day.

Through it all however, there was rarely a sign that the goblins were being appeased. They had been betrayed by their King too many times to have any respect left for him. The pressure showed in Jareth’s eyes too often, when he thought she wasn’t looking.

And so here Sarah was, about to beg her friend for the biggest favour of all, because she couldn’t stop thinking of ways to make the Goblin King smile.

“I know it’s a lot to ask,” she admitted soothingly.

“A lot to ask!” Wick cried hysterically. “Spying on the Queen was a lot to ask! Stealing reports about the rebellion was a lot to ask! This is _insanity_ , Sarah.” He stopped pacing at last, staring at her with eyes as wide as they’d ever been. Wide with pure disbelief.

“But you already know where she is,” Sarah countered, “And what she does. And who she is! It can’t be that hard to find her.”

“Finding Lina is not the difficult part,” Wick replied with a shake of his head. “You want me, a servant Elf, to leave the Royal Palace without permission and enter the Dust Bowl on the pretence of locating the Fae Princess serving penance. And then you want me to secret her away so she and her brother can have a little reunion. Sarah, you’re asking too much of me this time.”

She took a deep breath. “They haven’t seen each other for over a century, Wick. _One hundred_ years. All because she fell in love and Jareth took the punishment for her. Can you imagine how much they miss each other?”

“I’m an only child,” he sniffed.

“Oh come on; that doesn’t mean you’re completely apathetic.”

“It doesn’t mean I’m a fool either.”

“I’m not saying you are. I think you’re very brave, Wick.”

The Elf snorted and huffed, taking a seat on the carpet. He never seemed interested in using a chair. “You’re just trying to sweet talk me.”

“I’m not,” she replied earnestly, putting her papers on the desk and sitting down in front of him. “Honestly Wick, I’m not. I think you’re a very brave person. You’ve helped me so much despite what that bitch of a Queen would do to you if she found out. You’re always there for me when I need you, and I’m really grateful for that.”

He brushed the back of his fingers tenderly across her forehead. She’d learnt this was an Elvish sign of platonic affection. “I care about you, Sarah. You’re a good person. A bit demanding and stubborn, yes…but you have a kind heart, unlike a lot of the Fae I serve. I’m worried about you.”

Wick was usually honest but he’d never spoken so fondly of her before. She regarded this strange being, rakishly thin with a shock of black hair and the most disarming sharp-toothed smile she’d ever encountered. How had it come to be that she’d found better friends in Elves and goblins than she had in humans? “What are you so worried about?”

“That you’re becoming too involved with Jareth and you won’t be able to finish your job.”

 Sarah couldn’t respond. She’d begun to suspect this herself recently. The fate of Lina’s lover had made her scared for her own life. But the more she felt for Jareth, the more she’d begun to fear what _his_ punishment would be. He was already the Goblin King, what more could the Queen do to him? She’d begun thinking it couldn’t be that bad a thing, to keep him on the throne. It might save him from an unimaginably worse fate. “I’ve been thinking about that too,” she told him tremulously.

“Sarah.” Wick wrapped her hand in both of his, clutching them tightly. “The Queen can take more than your brother and sister from you. Don’t do this to yourself.”

“Don’t you understand what you’re trying to do, Wick? You’re trying to protect me from a fate just like Lina and Jareth’s.” Her free hand clenched over his. “That means you know how much they’re suffering. And you _know_ what seeing each other would mean to them.”

“Don’t you care about your family?” he asked, verging on something akin to actual anger.

“Of course I do,” she replied firmly, soothing him. “Really Wick; I understand why you’re worried. But it’s a consequence _I_ will deal with. I’ll protect them with every last breath in my body, if it comes to that. But for the moment, all I’m asking you to do is find a way for two siblings to talk. Just for a couple of hours.”

He let go of her hands, wrapping his arms around his middle. “I’ve never met anyone like you before,” he muttered. “You’re lucky you aren’t more trouble than you’re worth.”

Hope blossomed in her chest. “So you’ll do it?”

“I’m not promising anything. I’ll research some gateways and see what I can find. But if I can’t find a safe way to get there in the first place I’m not doing it, understand?”

Her hope bloomed into a wide grin; she reached across and threw her arms around him. “Thank you, Wick, thank you thank you thank you –” she pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek.

“It’s not a promise!” he repeated firmly, though made no effort to be released from her hug.

“I know. You do what you can. I owe you so much, Wick. I’ll never be able to pay you back, even if I lived as long as the Fae.”

“I’ll have to get back soon,” he replied gruffly, smoothing down his clothes once she’d let go. “Helping me make up another report for the Queen would be a good place to start.”

 

* * *

 

 

He couldn’t understand her determination to persist in this. But then again, if Jareth were to start questioning Sarah’s will now he’d need a good few decades to find the answers.

                “I _did_ tell you they’d survive the winter.” The wind carried his voice to Sarah, who was crouched over her garden. She shovelled away piles of half-melted snow from around her flowers and bushes. Although winter was in its final death throes the air was still frigid and the wind insistent. Most of the snow had melted into wet sleet, showing the ground for the first time in months. He huddled deeper into his coat, shaking his head at her. Why she couldn’t have just waited until spring was beyond him.

                “What if the magic didn’t last?” she replied over her shoulder. “I put a lot of effort into this garden. I want to see if it’s still okay.”

                “You doubted my magic?” he enquired, feigning hurt. “You should know better than that.”

                As she shovelled away the last piles of dirty old snow her favourite flowers sprang up from the ground. They were luscious and vibrant as if it were the middle of spring. She laughed with relief and delight, kneeling down in front of the Irises. “I knew they’d be fine,” she said without taking her eyes from the flowers. “I just wanted an excuse to get out for a while. It’s been a long winter.”

                Jareth thought of their heated discussions by the fire, of tactical plans she paid little attention to and the flush of her cheeks whenever they’d been in her Summer Room. “Indeed it has,” he replied. “Though not entirely unpleasant.” He walked over to her and knelt down, inspecting the garden. It _was_ lovely, but he had more of a desire to visit his web garden after so long without it. Before he could voice this however Sarah made a statement that surprised him.

                “I want to go the Harvest Festival.” She said it without looking at him, toying with rocks that had been shifted out of place.

                “Absolutely not.” Even taken aback as he was the answer came quick and firm.

                “Why not?” She faced him now, those beguiling eyes bright against the grey around them. “The boys told me it’s coming up soon. And I’d…I’d like to go. With you.” Heat suffused her cheeks but she didn’t turn away.

                He stopped feeling the chill in the air. “Humans aren’t allowed,” he said rather hoarsely.

                “Disguise me,” she countered easily.

                “It isn’t customary to bring a date.”

                “Then we won’t be customary.”

                “I –”

                “Jareth.” She drew him up short with the way she said his name. Demanding and pleading all at once, submissive and assertive. Only Sarah could manage to pull that off. “It sounds like a great way to celebrate spring. You deserve a break from the hell you’ve been going through.”

                “You forget my detestation for the Fae, Sarah.”

                “Do you detest dancing? And good food? And games?”

                Oh, she was a sly minx. “Not necessarily…”

                “And if you did those things with me? Wouldn’t that be fun?”

                Her smile was coy and he knew he was being played but he didn’t care one little jot. Still, trying to regain some semblance of willpower Jareth feigned a roll of his eyes and a heavy sigh. “Very well then Sarah, I suppose we could pop in for a short time.” He was already dreading the dangers of having Sarah beside him under the Lights, drunk on Fae festivities and possibly wearing something skin-tight. It would be more than difficult not to ravish her in front of his own mother if he let himself get too worked up.

                But then she grinned, and hugged him excitedly, and he couldn’t help but smile too.

 

* * *

 

 

The gardens became a wonderful refuge after being cooped up inside for so long. Sarah spread a thick blanket beneath a tree readying itself to burst with new life. Though the crisp scent of winter still clung, signs of life were noticeable everywhere: in the tiny green buds of bushes ready to bloom, in the rustling of branches waking from a long slumber. Inhaling the fresh air deeply, she began emptying her basket. She set down two empty mugs, a variety of muffins and carefully selected books. A translated copy of Elvish short stories for herself and a handful of different anthologies for Jareth. He’d also seemed to be really enjoying Sherlock Holmes recently, so she’d thrown in _The Hound of the Baskervilles_ in case he wasn’t feeling poetic. She waited ten minutes to be polite but when he didn’t show she gave up and started on a chocolate chip muffin. It wasn’t a particularly windy day but the air was still sharp enough to bite. She huddled into her coat and picked up her book, hoping he would arrive soon.

                “Good to see you waited for me.”

                She glanced up as Jareth appeared a few minutes later, warmth pooling inside her at the sight of him. His hair was incredibly windswept, sticking every which way. He wore a sweeping black overcoat with a large collar that gave him the look of some majestic wild bird. “There’s only so much self-control I have when it comes to muffins. You’re lucky I left you’re favourite for you.”

                “Is the supply running low?” he queried, taking a seat beside her. One flick of his wrist and the two mugs had filled with tea. He picked up the blueberry muffin and began picking at it delicately.

                “You wouldn’t think a magical self-sustaining kitchen would fail to keep up with the amount of muffins a few goblins can eat,” she replied with a shake of her head. She picked up the mug and held it to her lips, grateful for the steam that warmed her cheeks. “Forgetting something?”

                “Mmm,” he replied through a mouthful of food. He made a sweeping gesture and plucked a glass jar full of flames out of the air. It gave off a comfortable heat when put between them, chasing the sting out of the air. “What have you got for me today?” he enquired when he’d finished, reaching for the books Sarah offered him. “I’ve read this Dickenson so many times I could recite it in my sleep…I think I’ve had my fill of Tennyson for the moment…ah, a little Holmes. How did you know?”

                “You’ve been saying ‘elementary my dear’ about five times a day. Hard to miss.” She settled onto her stomach with the Elvish book spread beneath her chin. A smattering of crumbs soon formed beside her as she picked chocolate chunks from her muffin. Though she heard him sipping at tea and rifling through pages, Sarah knew Jareth was watching her by the delightful prickling of her skin. Her breath came a little lighter; she toyed self-consciously with a lock of hair. When the feeling left she took her turn. He sat propped against the tree trunk, long legs stretched out. The mug sat comfortably in his two hands, the book was floating just in reach, turning its own pages as he read. She could tell that he wasn’t actually reading. He tended to silently mouth the words when he was. There was a tension in his posture that didn’t exist when he was truly buried in prose.

                Time seemed to fly by when you were mentally preparing to betray the man you were falling for. When had she started to know him by heart? When had he become such an intrinsic part of her daily life? Her fingers played with the bracelet on her wrist. It seemed as if it were only seconds ago that she’d forced that vow from the Queen, securing her own safety. Now she studied Jareth and felt as if she were being pulled apart at the seams. How could she do this to him? How could she have made those demands of the Queen and not once thought to ask _what about your son_? Maybe she hadn’t changed enough in ten years – maybe there was a part of her that would always be selfish, she thought dismally.

                “Am I _that_ much of a distraction, pet?”

                His question startled her from the troubled thoughts. She realised with a flush that she’d been staring at him openly for several minutes. “You were watching me too.” The pathetic tone in that statement made her cringe inwardly, yet he didn’t grin smugly as she expected.

                “I suppose I’m a little distracted myself,” he sighed, his book falling to the way side. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

                Her heart started to race. _Oh god._ “Like what?” she managed to ask lightly.

                “The Elf I…accosted a few weeks ago. How did you say you knew him?”

                _Oh shit. Play it cool Sarah._ But then again, another part of her thought let him find out. Let him unravel her plans and take the responsibility out of her hands. Maybe it would be kinder to just let him be mad at her. “I met him when I was here last time. In the Labyrinth.”

                “And how did you come to meet him again?”

                She’d had this answer prepared for a while now, in case he ever thought to question her. “If I tell you, you have to promise you won’t be mad with him.”

                He raised a brow silently.

                “I mean it! You gave him a real fright that day. I don’t have many people to talk to and I don’t want you to scare him off.”

                Jareth set his tea down on the blanket slowly. “Very well, Sarah. I shall hold my temper. For you, as always.”

                “He likes your gardens,” she said, which wasn’t in itself a lie. “He’s been sneaking onto the castle grounds just to admire them. I bumped into him one day by the statues and we’ve been spending time together ever since.”  No, it wasn’t _all_ a lie. _God, just tell him the truth. Tell him you’re a nasty, manipulative, stupid woman who’s falling hopelessly –_

“Did you know he works for my mother?” Jareth’s question stopped her thoughts from spiralling out of control.

                “He told me he serves Fae,” she replied, both proud and ashamed of the confidence in her voice.

                “Hmmm.” Jareth’s gloved fingers tapped a muted beat against the mug. “You know he might be using you to glean information, don’t you?”

                “Wick’s got a good soul,” Sarah told him firmly. “Two of them actually. I know him. I trust him.”

                Their shared look held steady for a few moments, Sarah both fearing and hoping that he would let the matter drop.

                “Well then,” he sniffed after a while, returning to his book. “If he’s such excellent company I’ll refrain from damaging your relationship. I’m glad for you.”

                The words were too cold to be genuine. A wry smile curved her lips. “You wouldn’t happen to be _jealous_ , would you?” Then, before he could respond, licking her lips: “Because you don’t need to be.” How could he not hear the samba that was breaking free of her chest?

                “I know,” he replied in an undertone. Though his eyes never strayed from the page she felt as if he were staring right through her.

                They resumed their companionable quietness, reading well into the afternoon, sharing thoughts on plot and writing style. She was laughing at the something he’d said, wishing he could freeze them in this moment forever, when his face turned vacant. The next moment he was called away by duty, another dreaded wish. She picked up his book, folding it at the top corner so he could find his place later. Then she pressed it against her chest, eyeing his empty spot on their blanket and wondering what horrors he was facing for her and for Lina.

 

* * *

 

 

In the days leading up to the festival Sarah grew increasingly anxious. Her usual sources of comfort became irksome: Hoggle’s grating voice was aggravating; Didymus’ high energy drove her to snap at him and she had no patience for Ludo’s rumbling random selection of words. Wick’s search for safe gateways was proving fruitless, sending her into deeper despair. The last chill of winter was fading but she couldn’t find joy in it. Books gave no comfort; the grounds couldn’t hold her attention long enough. Even Jareth’s company couldn’t settle her. Why was it that the most ordinary moments between them – sharing lunch, walking the gardens, discussing poetry – could stir so much affection in her? One evening he poured her a mug of hot cocoa and she very nearly jumped him then and there. She was beginning to question her sanity.

For the entire day leading up to the first night of the Harvest Sarah was a wreck. She buttered a notebook instead of her toast, cut herself shaving twice and couldn’t find her way around the castle at all. Her mind was abuzz with dozens of worries: what if she was discovered among the Fae? What if she had too good a time and forgot why she was there? What if the Queen was there? How could she stand by Jareth in good conscience? What if Jareth said _the thing_? There was so much that could go wrong. And yet despite all of this when the time came to get ready Sarah couldn’t stop from marvelling at the dress Jareth had created for her.

He’d told her he’d take care of the necessities and boy, he _had._ It was strapless, divinely emerald and seemed much as the Queen’s had, to be spun tightly around her like an entrancing web of silk. Feint silver vines trailed diagonally from bust to hem. There was something oddly familiar about the curve of the leaves and the flowers; when Sarah inspected them closely she realised they were shaped by words – all her favourite poems. Her hair hung low against her back; a thin strap of silver ribbon served to keep it out of her face. Looking in the mirror, Sarah felt beautiful and raw in a way she never had. Only the silver bracelets covering her vow mark took away from her good spirits. It was almost impossible to believe that the woman staring back at her was the same Sarah Williams who head-banged to Pearl Jam and wore chunky old sneakers everywhere. The thought made her realise there were no shoes to be found for the outfit. With a frown she glanced around the room, thinking she might have missed them.

“Fae don’t wear shoes to the Harvest,” said a low voice from the door.

There was no need to question her sanity now – the only sane way to react to his appearance was with a flushed little shiver. Jareth wore tight pants black as sin and no boots for the first time since she’d met him. He looked a delicious Fae pirate in a heavy coat the same colour as her dress that swished around his ankles as he walked. A silver silk scarf hung loose around his neck. It was decidedly less elaborate than anything he’d worn before but the effect made Sarah’s mouth dry. She hadn’t realised she was staring at him until he was suddenly upon her, appraising them both in the mirror.

“We look quite the pair, don’t we?” he enquired, eyes fixed on her reflection with such emotion that she had to look away.

“Thank you for this,” she murmured, smoothing a hand down her leg. “It’s wonderful.” If she felt raw before she felt positively naked now with the way he was looking at her.

“That it is. It’s incomplete however,” he said in a strangely tight voice.

“What’s missing?”

                “Humans aren’t permitted at the Harvest, remember? We’re going to have to do something about that pretty little face of yours.” He stepped in front of her, blocking her view of the mirror, and gently pressed his fingers to her temples.

“You’re not going to give me horns or anything, right?” Sarah asked breathily.

He chuckled deep in his throat. “We aren’t _Goatmen_ Sarah.”

“Well how should I know?” she replied huffily, comforted by the familiar sensation of being irked by him. “I don’t –” she was overpowered by a heated tickle as if he’d just kissed his way down every inch of her spine. Hot with the thought, Sarah was almost relieved when he released her and stepped back.

Checking her reflection she gasped with delight. Her skin glowed almost pearlescent. Her hair shone ebony with a brilliance no shampoo could ever have managed. At the corners of her eyes were delicate sweeping lines of silver and green, spiralling like tiny flower vines from her eyes across her temples and disappearing into the line of her hair. They were intricate and impossibly detailed. Hesitantly she touched them with a finger, surprised to feel nothing but skin.  

“Were you expecting paint?” he enquired drolly and she blushed.

“A little. They look…I look a witch or something.”

“You don’t like them?”

She grinned. “They’re beautiful. I feel like I’m living in a fairy tale.”

“Just remember…Fae tales rarely have the happy endings of your childish human stories.”

“Why do you have to ruin it?” She noticed for the first time how he was looking at her. There wasn’t pride in his work, or the hunger she’d noticed before…there was something that clouded his eyes with shadow. “What?” she asked hesitantly, worried he might have done some unseen damage with the spell.

“You look like a Fae.”

The disappointment in his voice confused her. “That was the point, wasn’t it?”

“Indeed, but…” he shook his head and forced a smile. “Never mind, pet. You look divine. Shall we go?”

“Jareth –”

She was cut off as he took her hand and whirled them away, her stomach lurching with the familiar sudden motion.

 

* * *

 

 

The first thing she noted was the heat. The air was thick and potent with the scent of a thousand flowers. A fine sheen of mist clung instantly to her skin, making her feel as if she’d bathed in perfume and glitter. The result of this heady mixture was a deeply satisfied smile as she was reminded of sex and heat and skin and candlelight.

                “…a feeling you might react this way.”

                Someone was saying something. A familiar voice. “Hmm?”

                “Sarah.” Hands took firm hold of her shoulders. “Look at me.”

                Jareth. It was Jareth’s voice calling to her. Jareth’s eyes staring into hers with concern. What was he worried about? She felt wonderful. She tried to say so but her tongue felt thick as if she’d been drinking all night. Jareth swiftly placed his fingers at her temples and muttered something. There was that heat again: the shiver-inducing-kisses-against-her-spine sort of heat.

                The fog cleared from her mind. She blinked a few times. “What the hell,” she murmured in slowly, “Was that?”

                Jareth looked angry, of all things. “I told you humans weren’t allowed here,” he whispered fervently to her. “The magic in the Field is strong enough to dull _Fae_ senses given enough time. The Fates only know what it would have done to _you_. I’ve put a shielding spell on you for now. It should keep your head clear.” He glanced around in concern, checking that they weren’t overheard.

                Only then did she truly take in their surroundings. They stood at the edge of a vast field bustling with life. She couldn’t even see where it ended; it just seemed to stretch on into the darkness under a night sky washed with luminescent lights. Into this ethereal atmosphere stretched dozens of enormous trees pulsing with soft energy. They filled the centre of the field like silent giants, watching the festivities around them. Hundreds of Fae created a flowing crowd that met and parted as if the entire field were taking part in a dance. Trellises overflowing with flowers covered pathways to where there were games being played, firesticks twirling, and scores of dancers swaying. The smell of smoke and food wafted from scattered campfires. Over it all drifted the song of the Fae; lilting voices rose over the accompaniment of stringed instruments. It was not unlike Spanish, Sarah thought, swaying though she couldn’t understand the words.

                “I shouldn’t have brought you here,” Jareth muttered, spoiling her wonder at the view before them. He had a dark look on his face that reminded her of his dislike for the Fae.

                “I know you don’t like them,” she said quietly. “I’m not too fond of them myself – present company excluded. But it looks like so much _fun_. Don’t we deserve a little fun?” She touched the crook of his folded elbow, willing him to relax.

                “I _am_ hungry,” he admitted.

                “Me too. Let’s go find something to eat, okay?”

                “Very well…but stay close. I’ll need to translate if we speak to anyone. They won’t be speaking English.”

                Looping her arm through his, Sarah urged him forward into the mass of revellers. “How’re you going to do that without them suspecting anything?”

                “A Hearing Illusion. They’ll hear you speaking in Fae and you’ll hear English. If you stay close enough they shouldn’t notice the spell.” He was snatching glances at her; she could feel it. “And another thing to remember: your name is Ilyena Al’Raven. You’re a noblewoman from Verona.”

                “Right.” She repeated the names under her breath a few times, determined not to make a fool of herself. He gave her a few brief points to remember in case a question should come up, but reassured her that he could control the conversation. Not that he seemed at all interested in other company – he led her through the crowd with nimble ease in search of food, disregarding those around them. As they walked Sarah snatched casual glances at the Fae. She was curious, having only ever seen Jareth and his mother. They weren’t all as beautiful as she’d worried they would be, preparing to feel like a duck among swans. But like the Queen, most of them were stretched too thin to be properly good looking. There was something unnerving about their grace and fluidity, their sharp expressions and complicated array of facial markings. They weren’t unattractive in any way, just so distinctly _other_ that Jareth seemed positively American in comparison. Or perhaps she was just used to him now.

                They reached a set of low wooden tables overflowing with food. Most of it was recognisable - fruits, vegetables and rice dishes, various meats – yet Jareth instructed her discretely on what would and wouldn’t poison a human. At last, laden with a plate of safe delicacies, they made their way to a patch of grass where others were eating. There were no chairs – they sat down on the soft grass and picked at the food. Sarah adored the sweet fruits and the fragrant rice but couldn’t quite stomach the meat, which had a strange blue tint to it. Apparently it was some sort of fish. She was making a joke, trying to get Jareth to relax, when someone came to join them.

                “I don’t believe it,” remarked a drawling voice. The man was milk-skinned with a mop of black hair and hard eyes. The only colour to his dark attire was the crimson  markings like tiny flames around his eyes. “If it isn’t the Goblin King himself, leaving his draughty castle to mingle with the commoners at last.”

                Sarah felt Jareth tense instantly beside her. “Killian,” he acknowledged. His voice was calm but his smile brittle. “I see you’ve left that ample palace of yours long enough to acquire free food.”

                Killian placed himself in front of them with his heavy plate and began to eat, completely unflustered. “I must uphold my reputation,” he replied in that same lazy tone. “Let it never be said I leave well enough alone when something is there for the taking. Speaking of which…” his gaze flicked over to Sarah. “Where did you find this lovely specimen?” He smirked. “You didn’t forge her out of goblins, did you?”

                “Curb your tongue,” Sarah snapped before Jareth could reply. “I’m a noblewoman, not some object to be subjected to your scrutiny. Don’t speak of me as if I’m not here.”

                Jareth stared at her in surprise. Killian chuckled, pushing his plate away with amusement. “Such a spark!” he exclaimed. “It’s getting so hard to find women with spirit these days. What’s your name, my _noble_ lady?”

                “Ilyena of Verona,” Sarah replied shortly, holding out her hand palm downwards as Jareth had told her. Killian took it in his and placed a chaste kiss against her fingers. His lips were cold and hard as his eyes.

                “Perhaps we’ll see if that fire of yours is just as present on the dance floor,” he said, releasing her hand.

                Sarah felt Jareth’s fingers flutter against her arm. His expression was calm but a storm raged in his eyes. “I think not,” he replied in a thin voice.

                Killian shrugged lazily. “No bother then.” He picked up a glass of wine and took a sip, apparently bored. “I heard tell of a string of nasty deaths in your Labyrinth of late,” he remarked casually.

                “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear,” Jareth replied coolly. “You know rumours are a disease in this place.”

                “You shouldn’t speak of your own mother’s realm so poorly,” Killian countered. “Especially since _you_ are the one spreading disease. Fatalities in the Dwarf realms are getting a little high, aren’t they Jareth? Did you think we hadn’t noticed?”

                “Are you going to make your point, Killian?” Jareth asked, a dangerous edge creeping into his words.

                “You know what my point is,” the Fae replied bluntly. “Word is spreading. If word spreads, these little ‘incidents’ of yours will become total rebellion. The Dwarves I could care less about, but you know that even the Fae can do very little against thousands of purebred goblins.”

                Sarah decided to step in. “Dance with me,” she said firmly to Jareth, who looked about ready to tear strips off Killian. “I’m tired of your politics.” It took a few insistent tugs on his arm before he relented, getting to his feet.

                “Excuse us, Killian,” he said flatly. “Enjoy the Harvest.”

                They left the awful Fae behind swiftly, Jareth muttering under his breath as he took charge and pulled Sarah along beside him. “Of all the people that had to be here…” he growled.

                “Who the hell was that jerk?” Sarah asked heatedly.

                “His father owns a lot of land. Killian seems to thinks that makes him a lord. He’s a spoilt false noble who delights in gossip and causing trouble when there’s none to entertain him.”

                “I’m sorry, I forgot there might be people here who’d want to talk to you about…you know…”

                “My inability to maintain control of my kingdom?” he snapped.

                He hadn’t spoken to her like that in a long time. _I deserve it_ , she thought. _It’s my fault anyway_. She hated that even here, during what was supposed to be a fun break, she caused him pain. “Dance with me,” she said again.

                He blinked at her, anger replaced by confusion. “I thought you were just trying to take me away from Killian.”

                “I was,” she replied gently. “But we’re here anyway, and there’s music…why not?”

                They had indeed found the source of the music - a band of musicians under a great vine twinkling with soft lights. The song was somewhere between jaunty and lazy, enough to keep people moving without any urgency. It made her think of Spain in the afternoon sun. Jareth’s expression became genuinely tender.

                “Indeed,” he murmured, eyes glittering. “Why not?” He led her into the midst of dancers, ignoring the few who cast them curious looks. Sarah laid her hand against his shoulder, which he covered with his own before splaying fingers along her waist, drawing her close. It was an intimate pose but the music was just fast enough to tug them along the necessary steps, back and forth with little time for lingering. “Try not to swoon;” he teased. “I’m especially handsome when I’m dancing.”

                She laughed lightly, shaking her head. “I’ll do my best. Be gentle with me; I don’t do a lot of formal dancing.”

                “Oh? What do you usually do?”

                “Jump around like a lunatic in a big sweaty crowd full of grunge fans.”

                “Grunge?”

                “It’s a type of music, rough and distorted rock. You wear lots of flannel shirts.”

                “You’re always full of surprises, Sarah.” Jareth squeezed her hip as he spun them in a tight circle. “Here I picked you as a soft acoustic sort of woman.”

                “I like a lot of different things,” she replied with a shrug. “I’m really enjoying this song, actually.” At his amused smirk she raised an eyebrow. “What?”

                “She’s singing about making love to a tree.”

                “She’s _what_?”

                “Listen.”

Without concentrating the words sounded vaguely foreign, but when she closed her eyes they reassembled themselves in her mind. They spoke of breasts against rough bark and the tell-tale rustling of leaves.

 Jareth laughed at the look of shock on her face. “We can be quite crass during the Harvest. It’s the only time of year we have to let loose.”

Sarah couldn’t help but laugh too. “Guess it’s not so sweet after all.”

“I suppose not.”

They were quiet for a while, flowing through steps together like they’d been doing it all their lives. Jareth was a strong lead. He had her moving into the next pose before she even knew what was happening, his hand on her hip a firm guide. Each subtle squeeze of his fingers made her wriggle closer to him in need. He was aware of this from the start, the beautiful bastard, applying more pressure until she was pressed flush against him. She wanted to rake her fingers through his hair and kiss that smug grin right off his face. She very nearly did before the music changed abruptly and they were swept brusquely away into the arms of various partners.

Though at first it was frustrating being dragged away from Jareth, eventually Sarah found herself having too much fun to mind. The dances were fast but not complicated, involving a lot of twirling and swaying that Sarah picked up quickly. What she lacked in grace she made up for with enthusiasm, whirling from partner to partner with a dizzy grin. From what she’d known of the Fae beforehand it surprised her to see them so uninhibited, laughing and moving with easy dignity. They danced late into the night, more and more people joining in until she could barely make out Jareth in the sea of elfin faces. When the last beautifully vulgar song rang out over a panting crowd she felt a tap on her shoulder and turned. Jareth was wonderfully flushed from head to toe, out of breath and thoroughly ruffled.

“It’s late,” he breathed, offering his arm. “Time to go.”

“Fine by me,” she answered with a content yawn. “I’m exhausted.”

                They returned to the castle in a whirl of shifting black, making Sarah dizzy in her current state. She held onto his arm a moment longer while the world reasserted itself. After it did she was still second guessing her vision: they’d left one party and arrived at another.

                The entrance hall was a mess, littered with food scraps and upturned furniture. Empty ale glasses were scattered across the floor. There was some kind of dripping brown mess splattered up the landing.

                “What in the name of…?” Jareth growled, dropping Sarah’s arm and striding up the stairs. Even his coat swished in irritation. They followed the mess for a few silent minutes. All along the corridor walls were miscellaneous splatters and piles of ruined goblin fodder. A goat rounded the corner covered in paint. It saw them, bleated fearfully and shot off. Jareth was swearing under his breath by the time they reached the kitchen. The door flew open with a look from him and they found the culprits.

Didymus lay snoozing on the table clutching his dulcimer, moustache twitching. Hoggle was flat on his back under a chair, snoring gutturally. Ludo and a handful of Elves that included Wick were all spread out in various states of drunken sleep. Jareth looked utterly furious but Sarah couldn’t help it – she started to chuckle. It was as if they’d come home to find their teenage children after a secret kegger. The Goblin King’s incredulous expression only made her laugh harder.

                “Sorry,” she said after she’d calmed down. “Sorry, I shouldn’t laugh…but it’s pretty funny.”

                “They invited a gang of Elves into my castle and disgraced it,” Jareth complained sourly. “How is that funny?”

                She didn’t answer immediately, overcome by fondness. They were an odd bunch, these mad creatures. But they were her family now and she felt responsible for them. “Don’t be too hard on them,” she chastised him softly. “You can just magic away the mess, right? So they had a little fun. No harm done, hmm?”

                “It’s the _principle_ ,” Jareth replied stubbornly. “Do they really think they can just – just _cavort_ around while the King’s away and not expect – will you stop _sniggering_ at me?”

                She covered her mouth and leant into his shoulder, still smirking. “Jareth, you’ve been picnicking and reading with me every week for months now. Don’t you think they’ve caught on that you’re actually a bit soft? And maybe they think of you as a _friend_?”

                “I am not _soft_ ,” he said indignantly.

                “You are when it counts,” she replied quietly, still leaning into him. “I don’t think a little goblin party really matters all that much to you.”

                Sweeping a disapproving gaze over the drunkards once more, he finally settled on Sarah with a relenting sigh. “If it’s these particular goblins, I suppose it doesn’t.”

                A jaw-cracking yawn overcame her. “So that’s settled then. We’ll leave them be, you’ll magic up the evidence and I’m going to bed before I hit the floor.” She stretched her arms high, rolling her neck. “Boy, those people can dance. My feet are killing me. And we didn’t get to see anything else.”

                “We have an entire week,” he answered distantly, clearly watching her arching back.

                Exhausted, she completely forgot they might not have another day if the longing in his eyes was an indication of anything. “Mhmm, can’t wait,” she yawned again and then ushered him out of the kitchen, closing the door behind them. “I’ll have a talk with the guys tomorrow, okay? I think their hangovers will be punishment enough.”

                “Let’s hope so,” Jareth muttered. He took Sarah’s hand and transported them to just outside her bedroom door.

Drunk on the need for sleep Sarah reached up and patted his cheek affectionately, bidding him goodnight through another yawn. He took her hand from his face and planted a swift kiss in her palm. It was a tender moment of familiarity that she took for granted in her hazy state. For a blissful moment she forgot they were both caught in a tangled web that would only end in heartbreak. For a moment Jareth was simply warm and handsome and meant the world to her. For a moment she rose up on her toes and placed a kiss at the corner of his mouth.

And then the thought came that if she didn’t go to bed right now she’d fall asleep right there on the floor. He caught her arm to stop her tuning away from him.

“Wait –” he pressed his hands against her temples and a familiar heat washed through her.

Closing her eyes with the blissful sensation, Sarah grinned. “I look human again, don’t I?”

“Wonderfully so.”

“Just little ol’ human Sarah. Bye bye Ilyena of Verona. Until tomorrow.”

“Go to sleep precious,” Jareth murmured tenderly, watching her sway on the spot.

And with a nod, closing the door as they parted ways, she did.

 

* * *

 

 

Apparently she hadn’t slept as late as some. Not only was Jareth nowhere in sight for breakfast – if you could call it breakfast after midday – but the notorious party crew were still fast asleep when she arrived in the kitchen. All the Elves except for Wick had disappeared, of course. Likely to save their skins from the wrath of the Goblin King should he have found them. Everyone else was just where she’d left them in their various undignified positions. Stepping gingerly over Ludo’s enormous protruding feet, Sarah cooked up a giant pile of bacon and eggs. When they were done she picked up a glass and clanged her fork against it. The ringing was loud enough to rouse her dozing companions, all of whom groaned in various tones and clutched their heads.

                “Morning boys,” she sang happily. “Breakfast is ready if you can stomach it.”

                “Sawah _loud_ ,” Ludo rumbled, covering his eyes with a great clawed hand.

                “Oh woe is me,” Didymus squeaked, casting aside his dulcimer dramatically. “What terrible disease hast forsaken me? Surely it is some black plague and I am doomed…”

                “It’s called a hangover, my noble knight,” Sarah replied cheerfully, setting her heaped plate on the table with a loud clang. “You’re in no danger. At least not from disease. I had to have a good talk with Jareth to save your goblin butts last night.”

                There was a croak from beneath the chair beside her. “ _Jareth_ found us?” Hoggle wailed, struggling to his feet. “W-was he mad?”

                “What do you think?” she stuffed bacon into her mouth hungrily. “But don’t panic. I smoothed things over for you. Just…don’t go throwing anymore wild parties while we’re out, okay? At least for a little while.”

                There was a general sound of groaning and scraping as the group settled into chairs around her. Wick dragged himself into the seat closest to Sarah, looking decidedly greener than usual. He held a hand to his mouth at the plate she offered him. In fact, only Ludo seemed interested in consuming food. Which worked out well, as he ate enough for all of them anyway.

                “My lady, you have my most sincere gratitude for defending us against the King,” said Didymus, reaching for the teapot she’d prepared.

                “Yeah well, looks like I’m not the only one who can’t hold my ale,” she teased them all. “Guess we’re even now huh?” More sullen groans came in response. “What got into you guys last night? Caught the Festival fever did we?”

                 “Not so _loud_ ,” Hoggle hushed her, resting his bulbous head on the table. “Hoggle ain’t a young Dwarf, yer know. I needs a minute.”

                “Hoggle ain’t no Dwarf, either,” Sarah countered.

                “If you must know this instant,” Didymus said, “We were endeavouring to celebrate the tremendous news our good friend sir Wick came to deliver.” He paused to give an oddly polite burp. “Though I’m afraid we let the celebration overtake us. One minute we were excited noble sirs toasting to fortuitous news, the next…we were rapscallion goblins with a host of Elvish revellers.”

                “Yeah,” Hoggle chuckled despite himself. “Turns out Elves can’t hold no ale any better than you can, Sarah.”

                Wick was silent throughout all this. Sarah noticed it was because he’d gone back to sleep, chin propped in his hand.

                “What good news?” she asked quickly, setting down her fork. “What did he say?”

                The goblins all scratched their hands. “Er, I can’t seem to remember,” Hoggle said. “What about you Didymus?”

                “My apologies sweet maiden, I have no recollection of the evening.”

                “Ludo?” Sarah turned to the gentle giant with hope in her eyes.

                “Elf dreams,” the goblin replied, but that was all he could remember under her persistent questioning.

                Unable to make sense of the information Sarah got up and leaned over the Elf. “Wick,” she whispered urgently, shaking his slim shoulders. “Wake up buddy.”

                “Mhmmmnomoreeeeaaaalee…” the Elf mumbled incoherently.

                “Wick, come on. What did you find out?”

                At another shake from Sarah his chin slipped and his head hit the table with a solid thump. This didn’t seem to affect him in the slightest.

                “I bets he’ll be out of it for a while, Sarah,” Hoggle said as she tried rousing the Elf again. “Got a body like a stick. Not much space for all that ale to go. Bet it’ll come up sooner or later.”

                Her hands slid from Wick’s shoulders to his forehead. It was damp with sweat but not overly warm. Worry replaced her curiosity. “He’ll be all right, won’t he? Goblin ale won’t kill him?”

                “Don’t worry yerself, he’ll come good,” Hoggle waved a hand. He sniffed thoughtfully. “But I reckon he’ll wish it had, when he wakes up.”

                The Elf was snoring quietly now. Sarah smoothed the hair from his face. “Doesn’t he have to get to work?”

                “The Elves get holidays during the Harvest, let him sleep,” Hoggle told her, getting to his feet. “Speakin’ of…let’s see if I can get to bed without Jareth findin’ me.”

                “A wise idea,” Didymus added, finishing his tea. “I might well join you, sir Hoggle. Rest doth sound an enticing plan.”

                “Sleep,” agreed Ludo, lumbering to his feet.

                Sarah would have chastised them for their laziness, but she knew you could never sleep enough when you’d had too much to drink. “Ludo, will you help me take Wick upstairs?” she asked instead. “He can sleep it off on my lounge.”

                Though it was awkward with Ludo’s short legs and Wick’s long limbs hanging from his arms, they eventually made it to Sarah’s rooms. She took the pillows from her bed and placed them under Wick’s head as Ludo placed him on her lounge in the drawing room. The goblins made a hasty, stumbling retreat to their own beds, and Sarah was left to herself.

She spent most of the afternoon reading beside Wick. The poor thing must have bitten off more than he could chew last night. He slept the entire time, only stirring once to groan and whimper. She fetched a cool towel for his face and stroked his hair until he settled again. Her thoughts drifted between hoping Jareth was all right at work, burning with curiosity at Wick’s news and excitement for the night ahead.

Although her feet weren’t quite ready for another round of vigorous dancing, she wondered what the second Harvest night had in store for them. Fresh with memories of whirling bodies and flushed faces, it was easy for Sarah to forget she had ulterior motives for attending the festival. She read her book, occasionally recalling the pressure of Jareth’s fingers on her hip and the flutter of her lips against his skin.

 

* * *

 

 

He almost decided against going on the second night. The day had been filled with back-to-back meetings, a common result of the realm being locked away for the winter. Coming out of hibernation always meant returning to a doubled workload. By the time he’d arrived home he was tetchy and sore from a long day arguing with demanding councillors, townspeople and Fae politicians. The thought of subjecting himself to more company all night had been enough to make him groan. Until he’d found Sarah, brimming with excitement and awaiting a new outfit for the evening. How could he have refused her? So he’d conjured a dress that bared more of her back then was strictly necessary – _because if I’m going to do this again I’m getting a little more skin out of it,_ he’d thought peevishly.

                Now here they were, Sarah once more disguised and adorably trying to contain her wonder, and he supposed he could handle another long night. But if anyone tried taking her away for a dance he wouldn’t be held accountable for his actions. Even Fae life was too short to miss a second of Sarah Williams in a backless gown the colour of his own eyes.

                “What would you like to do now?” he asked, caring little for the answer. She could have suggested they take a swim in the Bog and he’d have jumped in headfirst so long as she stayed by his side. As it was, they’d eaten and had a few drinks while admiring the work of the fire twirlers.

                “The trees,” she replied contentedly, slowing her enthusiastic pace to match his own. “I’d love to see the actual Harvesting.”

                “Then follow me, my lady,” he said with a gentlemanly bow. She took his arm with an amused smile. Watching those dark lips made him wonder if she even remembered pressing them against his last night. It certainly hadn’t been anything other than a sleepy affectionate good night kiss…but it had been enough to keep him awake for several hours afterwards.

                They strolled under the decorative trellises, Sarah’s fingers trailing along the vines and flowers as they went. The night was even warmer than the last; as she craned her head back to take in the sky he contemplated tasting the line of her damp throat. The thought made him shiver with need and agitation simultaneously. The cursed woman! This was why he hadn’t wanted to be here and why he couldn’t have stayed away if he’d tried. She was irresistible in her own right but even more so because he _knew_ he couldn’t have her.

                “Oh, Your Royal Highness,” called a serene voice from the dark.

                Jareth turned in search of the owner, annoyed further by the use of title. He was a King, technically, of his own realm. Yet when he was anywhere near the palace people tended to reduce him to a Prince. It was a subtle way for them to remind him he’d had no real right to the title of Goblin King.

“Hello sir,” came the voice again. This time a woman came into the light of the path. She glowed pearlescent in a dress the colour of the moon, calm demeanour betrayed by the chill in her eyes. Jareth recognised her as one of his mother’s royal consort.  

                “Riyah,” Jareth inclined his head slightly. “What do you want?”

                “Your mother requests your presence,” said Riyah without looking at him. She was studying Sarah intently, who returned the gaze unwaveringly. “That is, the presence of you and your guest.”

                “We’re just about to contribute to the Harvest,” he answered coolly. “Can’t it wait?”

                “Does her Royal Majesty ever like being kept waiting?” Riyah replied.

                “Fine,” Jareth grumbled. “Where is she?”

                “This way, if you’ll follow me.”

                With an apologetic look at Sarah Jareth allowed the Fae woman to lead them away from the trees. Along the way he couldn’t help but grow tense. There was surely no way Mira could recognise Sarah, ten years older and looking like a Fae. Yet his guiding hand on Sarah’s back felt stiff with unease.

                They arrived at an assortment of low wooden tables gilded with silver and covered in flowers. An array of Fae were scattered strategically around them, deeply involved in their own conversations. Jareth didn’t doubt for a second that they would be listening intently for any snippet of gossip. His mother sat in the only chair, a wooden affair decorated in vines, above everyone else. She wore a glimmering silver gown and her hair was intricately woven over her shoulders. On anyone else it might have been flattering, but with the frosty expression on her face she just appeared cold and false.

                “Mother,” Jareth gave a tight bow, feeling Sarah curtsy beside him. “You called for me?”

                “There’s been word that the Goblin King has taken up with a noblewoman,” Mira stated without preamble. “Is this true, Jareth?”

                “You’ll have to excuse my mother’s abruptness,” he said to Sarah in an intentionally loud murmur. “She’s a busy woman with no time for formalities.” Oddly Sarah was looking for all the world like a child who’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. With a raised brow he turned back to see his mother staring at her with an unreadable expression.

                Jareth cleared his throat and both women acknowledged his presence again. “I was under the impression that my personal business was my own, mother. Forgive me for assuming such a foolish thing.”

                “My son thinks he’s clever,” Mira said to Sarah. “What he doesn’t realise is that he’s not above reprimand just because we share the same blood.” There was an edge to her voice he didn’t like. His hand on Sarah’s back slipped around her waist and held it firmly.

                “Your son is _very_ clever and knows all too well that the royal family is spared no punishment,” Sarah replied so boldly that Jareth nearly choked.

                Mira’s eyes narrowed in scrutiny. “Who are you, to gain the interest of a King of monsters?”

                “My name is Ilyena Al’Raven, of Verona.” Sarah’s voice was calm as anything. “I wouldn’t dare assume he finds me interesting. We’ve made acquaintances of each other, that’s all.”

                “I met Ilyena’s father at a council meeting,” Jareth explained. “He suggested we meet, and here we are.”

                “And here I thought your interests lay elsewhere,” Mira said pointedly. Then, after an uncomfortable pause: “Well then. It’s a pleasure to meet you, _Ilyena_. I trust all is well with you?”

                Sarah’s grip on Jareth’s arm tightened ever so slightly. “Yes,” she answered shortly. “Very well.”

                “And all is well with me mother, thank you for asking,” Jareth said sardonically. “May we be excused now?”

                “I know how things are with _you_ , my son,” Mira replied coldly. “ _You_ may be excused. I want a word with Miss Al’Raven.”

                “Why?” Jareth couldn’t stop from asking worriedly.

                “I wish to know what her prospects are, if you two are to be spending more time together. Nothing that concerns a man, I assure you. Now go. Your guest will be returned to you soon.”

                He almost refused to leave, caught between a crushing desire to protect Sarah and the need to appear unconcerned for the same reason. “I – very well,” he said finally, regrouping. “Try not to damage her too much with that sharp tongue of yours. I want her back in one piece.”

                “I’m sure you do,” his mother replied, dismissing him with a wave of her hand.

                With a final squeeze of Sarah’s hip Jareth relinquished her, forcing himself to walk casually away. At a loss of what to do he took a seat amongst the royal consort, staying close to Sarah in order to maintain his Hearing Illusion. It wasn’t an ideal position, being stuck with the snobbish crowd, but what else could he do? He conjured a glass of wine and sipped at it distractedly.

                “Don’t you have more important matters to attend to than drink and wait for a pretty face?”

                Jareth rolled his eyes at the group of women who’d turned their attention to him. “Such as…?” he enquired in a bored tone.

                “Quelling the goblin rebellion,” spat a tight-faced Fae who’s cheeks were red with drink.

                “Keeping the Dwarves from being slaughtered because of your lack of control,” hissed another.

                “I was under the impression the Dwarves mattered little to us,” Jareth answered coolly. “Wasn’t it you, Marissa, who once turned away an entire family of Dwarves in the middle of winter? Did the servants not find the frozen Dwarves on your front lawn when the snow thawed?”

                  “That’s not the point,” the one he’d named snapped in reply. “What right do you have to be here enjoying yourself when our entire realm is in danger of being overrun because you lost your head over a silly little _human_?”

                Jareth’s glass broke under the strength of his grip. “I beg your pardon?” he asked in a dangerously quiet voice. It was going to be a long night after all.

 

* * *

 

 

Sarah refused to show her nervousness. This woman had been a bully from the start, nothing more than that. And Sarah knew how to handle bullies. She’d been the only girl in her senior year to come home with bruises rather than hickeys. She met the Queen’s icy stare with confidence, holding her chin up high and resisting the urge to blink.

                “You may go,” the Queen said to her consort without taking her eyes off Sarah. When they were alone, she gestured for Sarah to sit. On the floor, which would mean she’d have to look up at her like some deity on a throne.

                “I’ll stand, if it’s all the same,” she said as calmly as she could.

                “You’re either very brave or very stupid,” the Queen said quietly. Her quiet voice was much deadlier than her booming, demanding tone. “I could have you killed for being here.”

                “Just like you could have me killed for loving your son,” Sarah replied quickly, trying to match that dangerous tone. “I’m sensing a theme in your punishments, your Majesty.”

                That seemed to surprise her. Sarah felt a flutter of nervous victory.

                “You might very well be both,” said the Queen in an undertone. “I take it all is running smoothly?”

                “Smoothly enough,” Sarah answered vaguely, because something was happening to her that she couldn’t stop. Deep inside, a decision was being made for her. A decision that would ruin her life but save her soul. “What happens to Jareth?”

                There was no question in what she meant. “He’ll be forced to abdicate the throne. There’ll be a ceremony in which he hands control over to the new King. The goblins will witness this and accept their new ruler. All will go back to the way it should be.”

                “And after that? Are you going to exile him?”

                “Does it matter to you?” the Queen raised a brow. “Your work will be done. You will return home.”

                “It matters because I’m not like you,” Sarah answered coolly. “I might look like a Fae but I’m still human enough to care about what happens to the friends I’ve betrayed.”

                “He will be exiled,” the Queen announced. “To some far off realm where he won’t cause any more trouble.”

                Exiled. Could that be any worse than the life he lived now? Sarah wasn’t sure what she thought anymore.  “You’ll have your new King soon enough,” she told the woman, though the words tasted bitter like an absolute lie. She searched for Jareth and found him watching her from a table full of women. “Can I be excused now? You’re keeping me from my job.” He was suddenly rushing to her in a way she could only discern as horrified.

                “I think the Fae look suits you more than you think,” the Queen said.

                Sarah barely heard. She was already hurrying to meet Jareth, terrified by the look on his face. He’d never look so scared in all the time she’d known him.

                “Jareth?” she asked hesitantly as he closed the last few feet between them. “What -?”

                His hands engulfed her cheeks, fingers digging into her hair as he tilted her mouth up to his and whispered against her lips: “Hold still; your disguise is fading.” The heat that washed over her was more torturous than ever. She knew it was more than his magic restoring her mask. It was the earthy comforting smell of him and the depth of devotion in his eyes. It was the tickle of his hair on her forehead and the _aching_ need to kiss those lips that were so close to hers. It was the need to consume and be consumed, to adore and be adored, to crawl inside his heart and make a home. Because that look of terror on his face had had nothing to do with himself. This man faced slaughter and rebellion on a daily basis and didn’t bat an eye for his own safety. Yet the fact that she might be discovered had filled him with a terror that drew him to her in a heartbeat.    

All the confusion of the past few months suddenly hit a crescendo within Sarah. All this time she’d spent hating him, rejecting him, denying her attraction, enjoying his company while burdened with guilt, letting herself fall for him despite the horrific consequences – she’d been running along a razor thin line for too long and her heart was fit to burst with the effort of keeping balance.

Her disguise was no doubt restore but Jareth refused to move away. He just stood there, cradling her face, waiting for permission…and the way he was looking at her, _oh,_ like she was the sun and the moon and everything in between, nobody had ever looked at her like that. Sarah felt as if something enormous was happening inside a very tiny moment. She felt as if her whole soul was smiling and she looked at him and knew with absolute certainty that if she opened her mouth she would say that she loved him.

But she couldn’t love him, would die for loving him. So she said nothing. Instead, she kissed him.

 


	9. Lost and Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I am SO SORRY for the wait between this update!! I have been orchestrating a friend’s wedding, my brother’s 21st and my sister’s baby shower which all took place last weekend and I’m SO done with doing stuff other than writing. I tried to get more of the story done but apparently working full time, organising all this and then writing until 2am wasn’t beneficial to my brain. So after a few tears and long days performing tasks while longingly thinking of paragraphs I could be editing…here is the next chapter!! Hopefully it makes up for the wait, as I will warn you it contains SEX (YAY!) and FLUFF and ANGST. All the best things in fandom life hahaha. 
> 
> Also I just wanted to say that there has been a ridiculously kind response to this story and I really really appreciate all of you for it. Your reviews and comments and support are what make me smile every day and what make me strive for perfection with each sentence. There are a few anonymous reviews too that have been especially heartwarming to read, and whoever you are (whether you are multiple people or the same on), I wanted to say a special thank you for your amazing words!  
> P.S the poems scattered throughout like thoughts are excerpts from these:  
> Walt Whitman: To a Stranger  
> Christina Rossetti: ‘Love knows not ‘mine’ or ‘thine’ and ‘He and She’  
> Marina Alexandrova: Beauty

**Chapter Eight: Lost and Found**

There’d been a few memorable kisses in her life so far. Troy’s mouth had been hot and smoky, making her feel wickedly guilty. Matt had kissed her on a blanket under a sky full of fireworks. Dylan’s cotton candy lips had soothed her pain the night she’d broken her arm roller skating. But Sarah had never been so loved that she could feel it in a single kiss. Not before now, with Jareth’s mouth opening against hers, had she ever heard the sound of violins and tasted poetry on someone’s tongue. It was a sensation she would _never_ take for granted, no matter if this was their only kiss or the first of a thousand. But _god_ , she hoped there were a thousand more.

                With obvious reluctance she pulled away, gasping for air. For a second all that existed was the man in front of her: Jareth panting, Jareth licking his lips, Jareth touching his forehead to hers. But then in the corner of her eye she spotted faces and lights and remembered where they were.

                And what they’d just done, right in front of the Queen.

                “Act embarrassed,” Jareth whispered, her saviour once more.

                It made sense – freezing up with fear would reveal them as criminals who’d been caught, while blushing would show nothing more than two people who’d been swept up by the moment. Though she trembled with worry and desire simultaneously, Sarah forced herself to appear flustered. Jareth stepped away and rubbed the back of his neck, looking determinedly at the ground. She held a hand to her mouth and feigned an absurd giggle. The Fae that had taken interest in them now seemed bored, not at all surprised by the happenings of the Harvest. Their gazes sought out other curiosities.

Cold dread replaced the heat inside her as she caught the Queen’s eyes. Though she was sick to death of acting, Sarah summoned the willpower to put on a calm face and stared back at the Fae woman as if she’d fully intended to do what she’d done. Was that a look of approval she received? Or a look of disgust? Or both? It was difficult to tell, but whatever the woman thought she seemed to take no further interest in the pair of them. Apparently a kiss wasn’t enough proof, then. With a relieved sigh Sarah watched her leave the tables and disappear. Only when she was certain they were no longer the centre of anybody’s attention did she dare face Jareth again.

                He looked different now that she’d kissed him. It was hard to say how exactly. He seemed to have softened around the edges, lost some of the sharp angles to his face that had once been so intimidating. Had she done that to him? Only one thing was certain – they were on a path there was no returning from. Even just standing there she was drawn to him, eager for more of his mouth and his hands and his comforting closeness.

With a final wary glance around them Jareth approached her. “Would you like to see the Harvesting now?” he asked mildly.

                It wasn’t what she’d expected to hear. A declaration of love, certainly, though her heart ached with terror at the idea. An affectionate comment, maybe, with a touch to her cheek. Even a wise-ass remark about her being the one to yield first would not have surprised her. But instead he offered his arm as if their interruption had been nothing more than a brief chat. Deciding she could surprise too, Sarah ignored the arm and went straight for his hand, gripping it tightly in her own. His amused smile was irritating until she felt how natural it was to walk with him like this. And then she realised why he was reacting so calmly: their union came as naturally as breathing. It required no fanfare, no grand gestures. It simply _was_ , because it was always _going to be_. A kiss wouldn’t change the fact that they’d been in over their heads for far too long now.  Leaning into his shoulder Sarah grinned broadly as he led her to where they’d been heading all along.

 

* * *

 

 

 _It would be more than difficult not to ravish her in front of his own mother if he let himself get too worked up._ He must have inherited some of Mira’s abilities for prescience. Or maybe it was just self-fulfilled prophecy. Either way Jareth couldn’t believe they’d just gotten away with that. Couldn’t find the energy to _care_ , honestly, because he was preoccupied by the skin of Sarah’s hand. It was rougher than he’d imagined. Nothing like that of a noblewoman, manicured and moisturised, it was mildly calloused in places from her work in the gardens. He could feel a feint scar on the underside of her middle finger. He was so immersed in learning the curve of her wrist that he bumped into someone as they came to a stop in front of the Dream Trees.

                He apologised diplomatically enough, though his eyes dared them to comment on a Goblin King distracted by a woman. He’d had his fill of that rubbish from the royal consort earlier. Thankfully the Fae man turned away in silence and Jareth was free to enjoy the marvel on Sarah’s face. But he had to admit the Trees never failed to impress him, no matter how many Harvests he attended. They were giants who sat in silence, reaching up and out over the Field as if trying to gather the sky in their branches. The energy was electric here, standing so close. It affected him just as any other Fae: prickling his skin with heat, filling his head with images of life and love and the cosmos, magnifying the scent of the earth beneath their feet. It was invigorating and intoxicating all at once; those around him shared similar expressions of elation. The Harvest humbled all, inspired purity in all. Contributing sparked kinship where it had long dried up. For once Jareth found it difficult to resent his people.

                Beside him Sarah was awash with the golden glow of the Trees. She could have been any other Fae with her eye markings and that look of serenity. But there was never any mistaking Sarah, for the love he felt couldn’t have been for anyone else. Their eyes met in silence and he started to hum, joining the low rolling cadence of those around him. It was an ancient, wordless tune, a melody of rebirth and gratitude. Stepping towards one of the enormous Tree trunks Jareth placed a hand on the smooth bark and waited for Sarah to do the same. Being human she couldn’t actually Harvest, but with their hands still linked she could share his experience. Most others closed their eyes when feeling for the Dreams but Jareth kept his on Sarah’s. When the spark of a Dream touched his fingers, his smile was her smile. When he hummed low in his throat, beckoning the Dream, they both shivered with the cold sensation of it touching his skin. Brief images flashed before their eyes: a heartbeat of existence, a whisper of human imagination. Sarah gasped in wonder and he resisted the urge to cover her open mouth with his own. Instead he entwined their fingers on the bark, lifted their hands as one and swept them upwards. A sliver of colour flew from their fingertips; a wisp of violet cloud went streaming up into the sky and disappeared into the opalescent atmosphere.

                   Around them others were doing the same. Colour burst around them in streaks of silver, crimson, pearl, auburn, olive green – tearing towards the sky like the luminescent ghosts of birds. They repeated the same motions with different results each time. Dreams passed through Jareth like memories, filling his mind with snapshots of fantasy: purple worlds and raging oceans and twisted faces; animals and cities and rooms filled with light. The visions were brief but endlessly divergent and complex. Sarah had closed her eyes some time ago in concentration, humming her own melody. Now she sought his attention silently, tugging at his hand in hers. She met his questioning look with a coy smile and bade him to follow her around the trunk of the Tree. They stepped over the thick roots hand in hand, finding themselves alone on the other side.

                “Much better,” she murmured, pulling him to her.

                “Agreed,” Jareth replied, slipping his arms around her from behind. She shuddered as he trailed a hand feather-light down her arm, threading their fingers together. They made a dance of pulling more Dreams from the bark: joint hands pressed against the glow as one, cradling the spark between them before sweeping it out and up in unison. The flashes of colour reflected off the dark of Sarah’s hair, bathing her in watercolour lights. Each time their arms lowered and reached forward Jareth would breathe down the line of her neck, his nose brushing against her left ear. He wasn’t certain how long they did this for. Empires could have risen and fallen and he’d have been none the wiser. The Dreams moved him, the Trees humbled him and Sarah, oh, _Sarah_ …

                Soon it wasn’t enough for them to be dancing. He let both hands fall to her hips, drawing her back into his chest. The skin of her neck was warm beneath his mouth but still he hesitated in kissing her.

                “What are you waiting for?” Sarah whispered into the dim light, her hands settling over his.

                It was difficult to think of an answer. His head was thick with Dreams and Fae song; he felt heavy and warm and couldn’t be sure that she wasn’t just another remnant of human imagination. Her sigh was real enough, as was the rustling of her dress as she turned in his embrace. She whispered his name against his lips, curious, pleading. All the false suave moves of his old self crumbled in the wake of the way she said it. He’d seduced women for decades, had manoeuvred them into his arms and his bed with precision. But he floundered beneath Sarah’s gaze as if she’d stripped him bare down to his soul. And that was why he hesitated. He’d been careless once, promising dreams and futures like they were truly his to give. Now though, all he had to offer was himself, for however much time they could steal. There was no certainty, no promises, no granting of wishes in a world that forbid their union. He could only place his heart in her hands and pray that it would be enough.

                “Jareth,” Sarah murmured again, sliding her hands along his throat. “Take me home.”

 

* * *

 

 

She kissed him while the world blurred around them. Wind rushed through her hair and blood pounded in her ears. Jareth’s mouth once again evoked thoughts of fire and the embers of poetry burning. He was saying something with that kiss, the same words she’d been unable to say to him. Even now, alone in the castle, they weren’t safe. _Don’t speak_ , she pleaded over and over. _Don’t say a word._ She used his mouth like a confessional, tracing her guilt and shame onto his tongue, planting prayers to soothe the sting. He pinned her flush against him, hands in the small of her back. She groaned into his mouth at the feel of those fingers on her bare skin.

Nothing would ever be the same again. How had she gone her whole life without feeling this alive? The thought of going back to her old world without him made her want to cry for a thousand years. To her horror Sarah abruptly burst into tears against his mouth. Her groan became a sob, her needy grip in his hair now a plea for support. Jareth drew her into his chest, touching their foreheads together.

“Am I that bad at kissing, precious?”

A strangled laugh escaped despite herself. The curve of his gentle smile was comforting; she pressed her face into his neck. The humour didn’t last long.

“It’s not fair,” she sighed into his skin, the first time she’d said so in many years.

“No,” he agreed. “It isn’t.”

Someone coughed. It wasn’t either one of them.

Jareth was suddenly staring over her head and very clearly trying to regain his composure.  “We have an audience,” he announced in a carefully mild tone.

“Don’t be mad,” came Wick’s voice from behind them.

She spun around to find themselves before a small cluster of Elves. Five of them, all sitting on her bedroom floor with varying degrees of uncomfortable expressions.

“Don’t be _mad_?” Sarah repeated, frustrated and embarrassed and angry all at once. She smoothed a hand down her dress and took a step away from Jareth. “Wick, what did I tell you about holding off on the parties? And in _my_ room! You –”

“It isn’t what you think!” Wick interrupted, rushing forward. He gathered up both of her hands tightly. Something immeasurably bright glimmered in his eyes as he told her in a steady, meaningful voice: “Sarah, _I found a way_.”

There was no mistaking what he meant. “You – you did it?” A disbelieving grin broke out across her face. “You found a way to –?”

He nodded vigorously, sharing her smile. “That’s what I was here to tell you yesterday. Before, you know, I –”

“Got blind stinking drunk and vandalised my castle?” Jareth stepped toward them. His tone was mild but the look on his face was anything but. Sarah thought it probably had more to do with their being interrupted than Wick’s actions. “You seem to spend a lot of time skulking around my kingdom unsupervised, young Elf.”

Wick turned a very pale green. “I – I –”

“Jareth,” Sarah turned to him with her grin still wide. “Trust me, you’ll want to marry Wick in a second. He’s been helping me with a gift for you.”

Wasting no time on Jareth’s questioning expression, Sarah turned back to the Elf and gripped his arms excitedly. “How do we do it? Can we do it now? Is that why we have an entourage in my room?”

Wick nodded. “It can only be done at night. She has to be asleep. And we need a little help.” He swept his arm wide, gesturing at the four Elves who had so far remained tensely quiet. They didn’t exactly look thrilled to be there, casting wary glances at Jareth but smiling politely as Sarah greeted them warmly. Wick introduced them as his cousins; they all looked fairly similar to her friend but with subtle differences. Brax was darker in complexion and stormy-eyed. Tork held himself with aplomb, his long bluish hair tied into a pony tail. Rade was stiff-backed and tight-lipped, his sharp smile not quite as genuine as Wick’s. The last was female and her name was Keel. She wore long skirts and a lot of bangles; her skin was almost translucent. She gave the impression that she was only there as a favour to Wick.

Sarah thanked them profusely for agreeing to help, which seemed to make them even more uncomfortable.

“Wick’s told us a lot about you,” said Tork, who seemed to be the most relaxed of the four. “I was curious to see the human who’d captured his attention so. I’m happy to help a friend, whoever they may be.”

“Even if it does require helping one of _them_ ,” muttered Keel, rearranging her skirts and pointedly not looking at Jareth.

Sarah could understand why the Elves might not have the best relationship with the Fae. Her gratitude only doubled.

“Sarah, might I ask what you’ve been planning, exactly?” Jareth enquired, eyeing the gathering suspiciously.

He had no idea what she was about to do for him. Excitement and trepidation bloomed in Sarah’s chest simultaneously, a flower with thorns. She reached out a hand for him to take. “Trust me,” she murmured. When he was at her side she turned to the Elf. “How does it work?”

“I was looking at it the wrong way,” Wick explained, gesturing for them to sit among the others in a circle. “I wasted weeks on finding a safe gateway there using the usual Fae magic, when I should have been thinking about _Elf_ magic.”

“I’m not surprised,” Brax commented tightly. “It’s difficult to remember our own strengths when the Fae try to suppress them so.”

“I remembered reading about a very old method of communication,” Wick continued as if nothing had been said. “Centuries ago we used dream states to meet with others when it wasn’t feasible to travel. It hasn’t been used for so long; it was a skill we lost somewhere along the way.”

“Any guesses as to _when_ our people began to lose ourselves?” Brax added in an undertone, glancing at Jareth.

“Brax,” Tork said warningly. “We’re here to help our cousin. No politics in the circle.”

Jareth shifted beside Sarah, still holding her hand. She expected him to snap at them but he remained silent, seeming to take the remarks as if he deserved them. Maybe the Fae did, but not him directly. She gave his fingers a comforting squeeze.

“It involves a sustained link,” Wick carried on. “Which is why I’ve asked my cousins to help, and they have been _so_ generous in obliging.” He shot each of them a pointed look before returning his attention to Sarah. “We don’t have to physically travel anywhere, Sarah. As long as she’s asleep, which admittedly is the only uncertainty…we can induce a dream state and forge a connection. We’ll sustain the link while you and Jareth call her.”

Sarah’s heart began to flutter nervously. “Are you sure you know how to do it? You said it hasn’t been done for centuries.”

“We’ve been practicing between us while you were out,” he replied. “I think we can do it. There’s enough of us, as well as two Fae with their own magic. It should be a strong enough link to last an hour or so.”

Her grip on Jareth’s hand was so tight that she noticed him wince beside her. _Two Fae. Is he getting it now_? “Sarah,” he breathed. “What in the Fate’s design are you _doing_?”

Ignoring him for fear of ruining the surprise, Sarah drew his hand into her lap. “Okay Wick, what do we do?”

“You close your eyes,” Wick instructed both of them. “We’ll open the path and then I’ll take your hand. You’ll feel the need to sleep; just let it happen. You should find yourself in a black space, like a sort of limbo. Start thinking of the person you want to talk with. Repeat the name in your head, and if she’s asleep…” he licked his lips nervously. “It should draw you to her. You’ll have about an hour.”

She could feel Jareth’s leg twitching anxiously against hers. It seemed as if it had been years between their kiss and where they now sat, about to delve into magic long lost and find something so important. She leant over and whispered in his ear. “I know we were a little busy before…but you’ll want to concentrate now, Jareth. Think about Lina. Think about your sister.”

There wasn’t a word to describe the look on his face then.

Smiling encouragingly, Sarah turned to Wick and nodded for him to begin.

 

* * *

 

 

Lina rarely dreamed of her brother. Life in the Dust Bowl left little time for dreaming; at the end of the day she was so exhausted that sleep came instantly and without interruption. That didn’t mean she didn’t _think_ about him every single day though. Jareth was the reason she was still alive. He was the voice in her head that told her to carry on when all she wanted to do was scatter herself to the winds. There was a feeling beneath her skin that said he was thinking of her too; an itch she couldn’t rid herself of. Every day that she woke to the sweltering heat of the wasteland was a day she met with gratitude. Every Azari borderland skirmish that required her diplomacy was attended to with humility. She took in nomads dying of thirst and watched communities die as wells dried up; the sight of villages turning on each other over livestock was never enough to rattle her.

                Why was all this bearable? Because Jareth had saved her from a worse fate. Without his help she’d have died long ago. So she’d thought about him every day for the last one hundred and twelve years. It was a surprise then, to find herself actually dreaming of him for once. It was subtle and delicate: his voice calling to her from a distance. And another’s too, female, nervous, desperate, hopeful. She could see nothing, just empty blackness like a void. There was something else too, a familiar faded touch of magic. It made her think of green skin and sharp teeth on a kind face. The pull of Jareth’s voice became stronger; Lina’s mind raced with the thought that she felt far too awake to be sleeping at that moment. In fact, she didn’t feel like she was asleep at all. Not as she strode through the empty black space searching for her brother; not as two figures appeared in the distance. Not as they came into clear view: a young Fae, dark hair – and the other. His face was not as she remembered – hungry, pained, older without visible signs of aging. She had always dreamed of the young Jareth from their childhood. So she knew, looking at this tired man before her, that she was not dreaming at all.

 

* * *

 

 

At first Sarah felt no different. In fact, she felt a little foolish, sitting in a circle with her eyes closed while a bunch of Elves hummed around her. But then her grip on Jareth’s hand started to relax with the rest of her body – the pull of sleep came like a wave. Unable to resist Sarah let herself be swept into the current, feeling as if she were floating on her back in water. The world was dark and hazy; images of Elves and wastelands flickered in and out of view. Jareth’s presence beside her was the only solid thing in a black stretch of empty nothingness. _Lina_ , she thought pleadingly, willing the woman to hear them. _Lina, please, Lina I’ve brought your brother to you_. Jareth was incredibly tense beside her. His hand in hers was tight enough to hurt, his expression one of anguished hope.

When she finally came to them it was with wary steps, reminiscent of a deer. Lina El’Maven was a photo-negative of her brother: dark where he was pale, soft where he was sharp. She had a face like a heart, a sloping nose, almond eyes framed by gold that rushed down her cheekbones like a river. She had the look of someone naturally kind-hearted who had weathered a cruel sun. Her skin was thick with red dust and a tan built over decades. Sun-bleached auburn hair fell over a white cowl that hung down the back of a green tattered blouse and skirts. _She is the spring and summer to my bitter eternal winter._ It was true. Jareth reminded her of snow and the wild wind of cold mountains. But Lina exuded an easy grace and light shone in her eyes that conjured images of sunshine and spring flowers. The eyes, though. Her eyes were just like Jareth’s, one pupil larger than the other and both filled with immense emotion.

                There was silence as Jareth simply stared at his sister. Sarah gave his hand a squeeze but he didn’t seem to notice. Tentatively Lina raised an arm, fingers stretching towards her brother. His name fell from her lips in disbelief. That single sound moved him. He went to her with the urgency of a man starved for so many years, as if another single second apart was too much to bear. They embraced, heads pressed together, arms tight around one another. There was whispering; Lina uttered a singular, overwhelmed sob and Sarah turned away from the strength of the love emanating from them. It was enough to bring a tear to her eye. She let it fall, hands folded, standing in silence as brother and sister became lost in a world of their own.

 

* * *

 

 

“I never thanked you,” Lina whispered against his cheek after a while. Oh, her _voice_ , that silvery tone like a melody. How he’d _missed_ that sound.

                “She never gave you the chance,” he replied hoarsely. “I’ve hated her every day for it. For all of it.”

                “It shows.” Lina cupped his chin in her delicate fingers, tilting his head side to side. “You’ve let hate age you. What have you suffered for me?”

                “It doesn’t matter,” he answered. “I would do it all again twice over.”

                “I know. So would I.”

                He hesitated for a moment. “He was worth it, wasn’t he?”

                She pulled back from him to glance in Sarah’s direction. “They always are, Jareth,” she answered solemnly. “Who is she?”

                He didn’t bother asking how she could tell. Lina had a way of knowing things he didn’t even understand himself.  “Sarah. She’s…” Words failed him. “She made this possible, with her uncanny ability to make the right friends.”

                “Elves?”

                “Yes. He found a way to –”

                “The dream state…” Lina murmured to herself. “It’s been too long since I’ve been in Elf company. I should have thought of that myself.”

                Despite his overwhelming joy, Jareth felt a familiar need to roll his eyes at her. “You really do know everything, don’t you?”

                A teasing grin crinkled the corners of her eyes. “And you’re supposed to be the scholar, aren’t you? How embarrassing for you.”

                “You’re not too old for a dip in the bog, little sister,” Jareth warned without any conviction.

                Laughing, she wrapped her arms around his middle and burrowed into his coat. He was reminded of countless childhood days spent chasing her through fields, that laugh carrying high on the wind. The more he lingered on the memory the stronger it became, manifesting in the dream state. They found themselves standing in that very same field of knee-high grass that swished in the wind. An indigo butterfly touched briefly on Lina’s head before passing on, but although she beamed up at him her eyes were forlorn.

                “How was your century?” she enquired solemnly, smile fading.

                “Tedious, for a time,” he answered, brushing hair from her face. “But it’s definitely been a little more interesting of late.”

                “Don’t do that.”

                “What?”

                “Dance around the truth. You always do that.” She toyed with his silk scarf. “I want to know what’s happening to my brother because of me.”

                “Not because of you,” he told her firmly. “Never you, Lina. And I told you it doesn’t matter. I’m handling it.”

                “Well then, will you at least tell me why there’s a very Fae-looking woman over there with a very human name?”

                Looking back at Sarah Jareth felt a twinge of guilt for forgetting her. But she seemed content enough to have taken a seat in the long grass, her gown billowing around her, gazing up at the white-washed sky. He beckoned her over with a smile and a wave. With a soft touch to her cheek he took away the disguise. Back to her human self, standing barefoot under his memory of a sky long gone, she was more beautiful to him than she’d ever been. Especially in light of what she’d done for him. He resisted the urge to kiss her; surely it was enough that they’d done so in front of his mother.

                “I thought it strange that a Fae woman should catch my brother’s eye,” Lina remarked. Then before anything more could be said she pulled Sarah into a firm embrace. “ _Thank you_ ,” he heard her whisper fervently. Sarah murmured something in a gentle tone, squeezing Lina tightly.

                When they pulled apart Sarah wiped a tear from her eye. “I had to do something for you. I’m just so glad I met Wick. He’s the Elf that’s doing this for us.”

                “I’d like to meet him,” Lina said earnestly. “We will do this again, won’t we?”

                “As often as Wick can spare himself,” Sarah reassured her. “Every night if possible.”

                “Oh Sarah, you’re wonderful!” Lina embraced her again, placing an affectionate kiss against her cheek. She turned back to Jareth. “Where did you find this darling creature?”

                Jareth was busy enjoying the subtle flush of Sarah’s skin and couldn’t fathom the answer. How _had_ he been so lucky?

                “It’s a long story,” Sarah answered for him. “But you’ll hear it another time. I think I might leave you two to catch up.”

                “We don’t mind if you stay,” he told her, but she gave his arm a pat and shook her head.

                “One hundred and twelve years is too long to spend apart. Talk to your sister, Jareth. I’ll be waiting at home.”

                _Home_. Had she even noticed her second casual use of the word? He squeezed her hand. “Sarah…thank you.” With a nod and a grin, she disappeared. He turned back to Lina. “Well?”

                “Well what?”

                “You’re not going to say anything about it, are you.” It wasn’t a question.

                Sitting down in the grass, Lina tugged him along with her. “I think you know perfectly well what you’re doing, Jareth.” She looped her arm through his and rested her chin on his shoulder, gazing up at him fondly.

                “Actually I haven’t a clue,” he responded, leaning into her. The wind was just as warm as it had been centuries ago. If he closed his eyes it seemed as if not a single moment had passed them by.

                “It’s best that way, isn’t it?”

                “Always. Now tell me, sister of mine: how was _your_ century?”

 

* * *

 

 

Surely there’d been a point in the evening when her room had been full of Elves. Five of them, to be exact, whom she’d spent awhile studying as they sustained the dream state. She thought she’d also been padding restlessly around the room, waiting for everyone to awaken. It must have happened, and there must have been thankyous and goodbyes and a hug for Wick.

                But for the life of her Sarah couldn’t remember a single thing before right now.

                Jareth was _looking_ at her. Silently and with a mysteriously intense expression, across the expanse of her now _very_ empty bedroom. The world was too quiet, her heart was too loud, and nothing had existed before Jareth started looking at her like that. She wasn’t afraid; she was hardly even nervous. What worried her was the strength of emotion in his eyes because she knew that her own reflected just the same. And what it meant in the grand scheme of things.

                “Lina’s lovely,” she ventured, amazed at the control in her own voice. “I can’t wait to spend more time with her. I’ll have to ask Wick when he’s free next.”

                Jareth gave no indication that he’d been listening. He’d been leaning on the dresser when she started talking but by the end he was just feet away and closing in.

                “Are you –”

                He swallowed her words in a kiss borne of the deepest kind of adoration. Every fibre of her being ignited in response, body melting against his, hands clutching at scarf and lapel and hair. _No_ , Sarah thought with conviction, _nothing ever existed before now_. And nothing would ever exist in quite the same way afterwards. But that didn’t matter. _Now_ was important, _here_ , with Jareth, whom she loved so much she would die with or without him.

                Only when there was no breath left in her lungs did he relinquish her mouth. His thumbs brushed slowly over her jawline. Still he said nothing but at least Sarah knew what his expression meant.

                “Well,” she breathed heavily. “You’re welcome –”

                Another kiss; this time his arms went around her back and nearly lifted her from the floor.

                If her ribs cracked in the process she would forgive him. It was all she could to keep up with the demands of his mouth, let alone worry about silly things like breathing. What did air matter anyway when you had the heat of a man like Jareth pressed against every part of you? After having spent so many months denying herself Sarah would do so no longer. Tugging on his hair she changed the angle of their mouths, swirling her tongue around his. Heat pooled deep inside her; she moaned at the sensations he stirred.

                And then she felt something damp on her cheek, tasted salt, and realised he was crying.

                Not profusely, just a few tears, but it was a realisation that set her heart bleeding. He’d cost her more than a few sleepless nights over time and yet all she wanted to do now was stop him hurting.

                “Jareth –”

                He cut her off with a desperate, fervent moan against her lips. She couldn’t find the willpower to care about finishing a sentence. It wouldn’t matter if she never finished another thought again, if this was the way he interrupted her. If this was how he sought her help. His hot wet mouth and roaming hands soon washed away her concern. This was about more than just sex – always had been and would be – a feeling swept through her like she’d never felt before. The need to be with him was overwhelming, to taste his skin and draw him into her soul and her body, to _know_ him in a way that would outlast forever. Jareth was the one to yield first, panting into her neck.

                “Sarah –”

                This time it was her turn to interrupt.

 

* * *

 

 

Poetry was running rampant through his mind. _I loved you first: but afterwards your love, outsoaring mine, sang such a loftier song as drown the friendly cooings of my dove._ He couldn’t bear another minute existing outside of Sarah’s soul; he started with her mouth but would end up pressed to her heart. _Which owes the other most? My love was long, and yours one moment seemed to wax more strong; I loved and guessed at you, you construed me and loved me for what might or might not be._ Every anthology he’d ever read was surfacing to the forefront of his mind. _I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become not yours only nor left my body mine only…I am to see to it that I do not lose you._ He tasted the tears but didn’t feel them; he was far removed from the emotions torturing his heart. Gratitude, sorrow, nostalgia, devotion, terror – nothing could touch him except for love. Nothing mattered except Sarah and what she’d done for him.

                _I adore you_ , he thought and tried to say before she cut him off with her lips and tongue and hands slipping under his coat pulling his hips into hers. The contact sent poetry careening out of his mind, leaving him raw. Whether time slowed of its own accord or he did it subconsciously, Jareth wasn’t sure. He softened the urgency of their kiss into something more languid. Sarah’s eyes closed and her head tilted back as he planted tender lips against her cheek, jaw, ear, down her neck. She tasted like salt and earth and the perfume of a thousand flowers. Her breath came short and light as he felt her hands drawing his towards the thin straps of her gown. Meeting her heavy-lidded eyes Jareth slipped the material down her shoulders inch by inch, brushing his thumbs over her skin. The idea of being stripped bare was nothing new to either of them and yet still he expected her to blush or fidget. The trust and serenity in her gaze was humbling. He dipped his mouth to her collarbone as the gown fell with a rustle to the floor, leaving her standing in lace underwear.

                Instead of raking his eyes over her Jareth learned Sarah’s body by touch, falling to his knees before her. He trailed kisses down the sides of her breasts in turn, lingering at her sternum. Once, twice, three times he affectionately pressed his lips to her navel, smiling reverently up at her as she threaded fingers through his hair. A rough line of skin met his sweeping fingers; he frowned at the protruding scar to the right of her stomach.

                “Appendectomy scar,” she explained in a murmur, looking abashed for the first time. She subtly tried to cover it with a hand but he stilled her fingers.

                “What if beauty is not something you’re born with,” he recited in a low voice, “But something that is learnt through breathing in oceans, drifting through deserts, walking on moons and stars – if not in the real world, then in the one inside the soul, perhaps the most important world of all.” Tenderly he pulled her hand away and placed a kiss against the mark. The jangling of silver bracelets mixed wonderfully with her sigh. He tried to remove the bangles but she took her hand away, drawing him back to her mouth instead. He rose to his feet, returning her gentle kiss easily. Again he wondered if time was playing by its own rules; they seemed to move as if through water. Sarah was arching her velvet body into him, arms around his neck and head tilted back. Somewhere in the back of his mind a clock ticked out of sync with the beating of Sarah’s pulse beneath his mouth. What did time matter when he had her slick skin to ravish?

 

* * *

 

 

Sarah had believed in a lot of things when she was younger. She’d believed in true love, magic and fairies; that heroes and villains had to be one or the other; that people did bad things because they were bad at heart; that there was no such thing as Fate; walking across cracks in the sidewalk was bad luck. While her beliefs had no doubt changed through the years they had never undergone such intense scrutiny as in the last few months. She still believed in true love, magic and fairies: it was difficult to deny what was right in front of you. But heroes and villains? They only existed in stories; _real people_ were made up of more complex thought. They were bad because bad things had happened to them, or they were hard because life demanded it. She now believed in never judging a book by its cover. She now believed in Fate, because there was no way that she and Jareth could have ended up anywhere but where they were.

                “This was always going to happen wasn’t it?” she asked quietly, tugging the scarf from his neck, letting it fall silently to the carpet.

                “I’d like to think so, precious,” he replied with a hiss as she slipped her fingers beneath his coat and pushed it from his shoulders. “Ours is a dance performed long ago and years from now, in every time and every realm.” His fingers covered hers like a whisper as she worked the buttons of his shirt one by one. They threaded into her hair as she planted kisses along his collarbone.

                “That’s very poetic of you,” she remarked with a grin, feeling a visceral thrill at his racing pulse beneath her lips, smoothing her hands over his bare chest.

                “I can’t help myself; you’re a stunning muse.”

                “Hmmm,” she hummed against his throat. “Is that another line for the ladies? Right after borrowing Whitman’s stuff about electric fire?”

                She heard him breathe deeply into her hair. “Trust me, Sarah Williams. No fire playing within me for your sake is ever _subtle_.”

                Raking her lips along his jaw Sarah smiled against his ear. “Same here, Goblin King,” she whispered, thumbing the waist of his pants. Her tongue traced the shell of his ear with a murmured: “Jareth.”

                It seemed to be too much for him. With a groan Jareth picked Sarah up, her legs wrapping around his hips instinctively. She hissed sharply at the friction created as he carried her to bed. On the mattress she made a show of stretching out languorously, smugly aware of his hungry expression. He filled the space above her instantly, leaning over on one elbow to capture her mouth, his hand ghosting across the space between her breasts. Those almost non-existent touches drove her mad. He wouldn’t settle on any one spot long enough to satisfy, teasing out a melody as if she was a violin. Every nerve in Sarah’s body was starting to hum; she imagined it was why the books sang after so long without being touched.

The only jarring thing was the continuous rattle of bracelets as she dragged her fingers over every part of him. It served as a cruel reminder of promises she no longer intended to keep. With a frustrated growl Sarah ripped them off and heard the clatter of silver hitting the floor. She wasted no time in worrying about her exposed wrist, pushing Jareth onto his back and straddling his legs. She fumbled for a moment with unbuttoning his pants but he didn’t seem to care, watching intently with his hands running over her forearms. With a wicked smirk Sarah finished with the buttons but made no further effort to remove his pants. Instead she traced stories into his skin, fingers skimming down his chest and across his abdomen in lazy swirls. It delighted her no end to feel him shiver and exhale sharply. Every so often she hooked a thumb into the hem of his pants and peeled the fabric down an inch, just enough for him to groan in frustration. After months of suffering through the never-ending tease that was his very existence, it felt good to get her own back. And it moved her to know what she could do to him: his breathing shortened, his hands clenched tightly into her thighs, he bit his lip in an obvious effort to remain calm. She adored the way he hissed under her touch and whispered her name fervently.

So many teasing words flew through her mind – comments about getting him to beg, making him lose his cool, all the usual things she’d have flung at any other man. But they didn’t apply here. She didn’t want to control Jareth; she wanted to make him feel good. To thank him, in a way, for saving and loving and damning her in a hundred different ways. So finally, meeting his hooded eyes, she released his cock and took him in her mouth in one swift movement. Jareth moaned deliciously, sinking fingers into her hair, massaging her scalp. He tasted like sex and heat and she drew him in deep after finally breaking eye contact. She closed her eyes, listening to his groans as she smoothed her hands up and down his thighs. Even totally at her mercy, urging her on with his half-whispered pleas her drove her mad. She ground against his leg, marvelling at the need he stirred and the moans that came from her own mouth.

“Sarah,” Jareth hissed, tugging firmly on her hair. His hand slipped down to her cheek. “Sarah, stop.”

Drawing him out slowly, she hovered over the head of him with an arched brow, unable to find words to question him.

“My retelling of Beauty and the Beast,” he panted, stroking her cheek. “Do you remember it?”   

                Heat flushed through her from head to toe. “A little.”

                “ _He devoured her_ ,” he recited thickly, cupping her chin, gently urging her to sit up.

                Heart racing, head foggy with need Sarah found herself suddenly pressed back into the mattress with a completely naked Jareth toying with her underwear. He planted kisses down her chest and stomach, trailing his lips down to where his fingers were grazing the wet lace softly. Every touch sent a shiver down her spine and made her want to scream in need. The universe seemed to ebb and flow in relation to the proximity of his fingers; there was no other feeling than the fire in her veins. She was panting heavily by the time he finally had her naked and spread before his open mouth. He made no eye contact, focusing instead on a hunger that seemed to only be sated by plunging his tongue inside her. The first time he sucked on her clit a ragged groan ripped free of Sarah’s throat; he held her thighs tightly to prevent her from clamping them around his head. One hand grabbed a fistful of bedsheet and the other dug firmly into his shoulder. When two fingers slipped inside her Sarah arched her back, crying out at the deft strokes and the kisses he planted with precision.

                Life was a rolling wave of bliss, sweeping toward the shore but never quite crashing. He kept her on that edge for god knew how long before she was writhing and begging, a string ready to snap.  It was more than she could bear when he withdrew, leaving her cold and desperately empty for only a heartbeat. Before she could summon the strength to complain he was back, mouth seeking hers and hands tugging her into line with his hips.

                “Sarah,” he whispered affectionately into her lips, nuzzling her cheek with his nose. “My Sarah.” She felt the velvet smooth tip of his cock press against her and moaned, kissing him hard. Their teeth clashed, tongues dancing wild as she clung to his shoulders and arched upwards.

 

* * *

 

 

Surely his reality was nothing more than dream. How could she be here, writhing underneath him and ready to snap like a promise? How many nights had he longed to feel the length of her naked body pressed along his own, to taste and suck and kiss her until she screamed? He whispered her name in disbelief, thankful to the Fate’s design that he should find this his reality. He _longed_ to sink into her but made himself wait. He took the time to savour every jittery nerve-ending, every part of his body and soul that was _screaming_ with the exquisite torture borne of simple touch. Sarah was burning and wet, her voice raw with desperation. Her cheek was hot against his palm as they gazed at each other, mouths open in stark wonder when he finally – _oh, yes, finally_ – sunk into her.

                Sarah threw her head back into the pillow with a gentle scream. Jareth quivered and growled savagely in satisfaction, eyes rolling with the sheer joy of sensation.

                “Oh my _god_ ,” she moaned, nails digging into his shoulder blades. “Jareth –”

                “Sarah,” he murmured, dipping his forehead to hers. He kissed the tip of her nose. “My precious, my pet, my –”

                “Sssh,” she hushed him with strange urgency, searing his lips with hers in a scorching kiss that set him aflame all over again.

                They rolled together towards a not-so-distant shore, cresting small waves. He smelt the salt spray on her skin and heard rushing wind in her gasps. Sarah was the ocean he would drown in and the raft he could cling to for survival. She met his thrusts with easy grace, making him think once more of their dance fated to repeat itself in every lifetime. Pressure was coiling deep inside him, a heavy tight spring waiting for release. He framed her flushed face between his arms, leaning in as he rolled his hips deeply into hers, eyes closed and mouth falling open. Sarah muffled her keening cries by bruising his collarbone with her teeth, kissing the place she’d no doubt left a mark. He felt the press of her heels into his lower back, urging him deeper as she writhed like a wild thing beneath him.

                “Sarah?” he posed her name as a question, wondering how much longer he could hold back and what might escape his mouth when he couldn’t.

                “Almost,” she panted, dragging her nails up to the nape of his neck. “Kiss me, Jareth.”

                He did. He loved her without knowing what would come of it, with no certainty that they would both be alive at the end of everything. He adored her in a way that made it impossible to think about any moment beyond the spectacular now. Because any future that didn’t involve Sarah Williams was not worth wasting thought on. He wanted to tell her all of this, pour his heart into hers and set their moulds together but he couldn’t find the strength. Tension was boiling in the pit of his stomach like a storm about to break. All he could do was kiss her.

She was warm and tasted sweet and salty all at once, like a promise doomed to be broken. Her moans were a low mantra out of sync with the throbbing energy pulsing through his whole body, jarring him into ecstatic delirium. The mantra shattered into a scream as Sarah came undone: those lovely lips parted, green eyes opening wide, body shivering around him. _Should one of us remember, and one of us forget, I wish I knew what each will do – but who can tell as yet?_ Watching her come was the most powerful thing he’d ever seen. _Should one of us remember, and one of us forget, I promise you what I will do – and I’m content to wait for you and not be sure as yet._ He kept moving, keeping her atop the crest of that wave for as long as possible just for the magic of it.  

                And then it was all he could do to keep breathing. It was the sigh that pushed him over – an achingly satisfied, heartfelt whisper of sound in his ear that had him coming with its purity. His senses amplified: he saw Sarah in stark black and white, felt every inch of her skin against his like fire, heard the drumming of his own heartbeat. His lips met the hollow of her throat, tasting a thousand grains of salt and spring’s sweet perfume. Their hips rolled together in jagged rhythm, leaving him raw inside and out. At last the world melted back into colours and shades; the air was thick with the sound of their heavy breathing. Jareth drew his mouth up to Sarah’s tenderly, unwilling to part. She seemed in no hurry for him to move, running her fingers up and down his back in a daze as they kissed long and slow.

                 “Do you think it’s this good in all those other realities?” she asked, licking her lips when they paused for breath. Her hands were in his hair now, resting idly there without a thought for moving.

                “I have no doubt,” he answered with a sure smile against her jawline, inhaling deeply the scent of her. “If it’s _you,_ pet, I have no doubt whatsoever.”

                “Ever the charmer, aren’t we?” she replied fondly, eyes bright.

                He responded by kissing her yet again, revelling in the way she relaxed as if they’d been lovers for years and not hours. Stroking her cheek Jareth finally slipped free, drawing another gentle moan from them both. They lay facing each other, hands entwined, noses almost touching. She didn’t shy away from meeting his intent stare, lazily drawing her foot along his shin in soft strokes. He lifted their joined hands and pressed them against his chest. The pounding of their hearts was a melody all its own. Sarah studied him, eyes flickering over the lines of his face, the curve of his ear, the slack tension of his jaw.

                “You’re making me feel like a book,” he commented, eyes drifting shut.

                “You don’t look old,” she replied. He felt her hand brush across his fringe.

                “How kind of you to say,” he remarked drily, settling into the pillow. “How did you expect a three-hundred-year old man to look?”

                “Normal, I guess.” She shrugged. “I mean I’ve seen movies about immortals with young faces…it’s just hard to realise that you’re _that_ old.”

                “If it’s any consolation, I’m quite young according to Fae understanding of age.”

                “But don’t you look at me and see just this tiny little human baby? I’m only twenty-five. That’s nothing to you.”

                His eyes snapped open. “I look at you and I see stars and moons, Sarah. You are a stubborn, persistent, beautifully inquisitive young woman with an entire universe inside her soul.”

                Her skin flushed crimson but it wasn’t an embarrassed blush; she burned warm with affection. He could see it in her eyes. “You make me sound so beautiful,” she murmured, looking at his lips.

                “It doesn’t take fancy words to tell the obvious,” he responded softly. “You shine your own bright light, you know. With or without me.”

                That last comment seemed out of place in their bubble of denial. It gave voice to the sinister truth that their future together wasn’t clear. He smoothed over it by kissing her, unwilling to face anything real just yet. Her mouth was too much of a comfort for him to worry about it for very long. When they parted he found that she’d wormed her way into his arms, whole body pressed against him. She rested her forehead in the hollow of his throat with a sigh. Time moved on but he paid no attention, enraptured by Sarah’s warm breath on his skin and the finger she traced up and down his shoulder. It was a subdued affair, their first night together, drifting in and out of sleep in companionable silence. The peace of it drove everything from his mind, making him forget that sooner or later there would be hell to pay.

 

* * *

 

 

“I don’t like it,” Keel announced. She’d said this so often in the past hour that Wick had lost count. Although his inability to perform simple mathematics was probably due more to the fact that he _was_ rather drunk. How could he not be? He’d successfully reunited a brother and sister, made his good friend happy, recovered a lost art form and had done it all without the Queen finding out. The evening deserved to end in celebration. And so here they were, he and his cousins, walking the streets of the village in search of a tavern with later closing hours.

                “Oh be quiet Keel,” Wick snapped. Drinking afforded him little patience. “It doesn’t matter what you think. They’re not going to fall out of love because –” he paused to burp, “Because an Elf disapproves.”

                “She has a right to be anxious, cousin,” Brax interjected, who was almost as sober as Keel. “The Goblin King is risking more than his own life here. If he lets the hordes overpower him, we’re all in danger.”

                Wick nearly toppled over in his effort to glare at them while walking backwards. “Can we not just be happy for a few hours?” he asked loudly, waving his hands both to show frustration and maintain balance. “We’ve done a good thing tonight.”

                “I think you’ve let yourself get too close to this human,” Keel replied waspishly. “You’ve forgotten who it is you really helped. Don’t you remember what the Fae have done to the Elves?”

                “Keel, I’d offer you another drink if I thought it would soften that attitude,” Tork put in, slapping Wick on the back companionably. “Don’t _you_ remember that Jareth’s father was good to us? He devoted a lot of his life to our kind in his time.”

                “Which his brutish wife then undermined by killing one of us for loving the princess!” she replied, bristling.

                “Why are you here then?” Wick complained. “Go home if you’re just going to snap at me for helping a friend. Enough politics, cousin! I want to enjoy the night!”

                “Maybe you’ve enjoyed it enough, hmm?” Rade suggested. Though not openly agreeing with Keel his opinion was obvious enough. He sidestepped quickly to avoid a passing group of revellers; the village was dotted with late partygoers such as themselves. “Shouldn’t you go to bed, Wick?”

                “Let him be!” Tork said cheerfully, arm now draped over Wick’s shoulders as they stumbled along together. “Just because he’s the Queen’s messenger now doesn’t mean he has to stay alert for her beck and call!”

                “Actually it does,” Wick muttered to Tork. “If she needs me she can still call on me anytime.”

                “Oh.” Tork blinked rapidly, steps slowing. “Well, does that mean you can’t have a little fun in the mean time?”

                “No!” Wick exclaimed. “It doesn’t! And so – so what if she calls me? I could be a better messenger full of mead than any of you could with a clear head!”

                Rade rolled his eyes. “Come now Wick, you’re being ridiculous.”

                “No I’m not! I can answer the Queen’s call and have her be none the wiser!”

                Tork barked out a laugh, throwing his head back. “You tell them Wick! I’ll bet you all he has the prowess of a panther.”

                “It’s true,” Wick nodded vigorously, bumping against his cousin. “I’ve been spying on the Queen for months without anyone knowing!”

                Keel gasped. “Wick! Bite your tongue!” she hissed, trying to cover his mouth with her hand.

He shrugged her off. “I have! I’ve been sharing everything with Sarah for months and the Queen has no clue!”

                “Wick,” Brax practically growled. “Think about what you’re saying. What if anyone hears you?”

                “You just don’t believe me,” he sniffed in reply. “But I’ll prove it. Won’t I, Tork?”

                “Yes, he’ll prove it!” Tork agreed, as Wick knew he would. “How will you prove it?”

                “I’ll bet you all thirty crowns I can take the Queen’s medallion without her knowing,” Wick boasted. “She doesn’t wear it at night. Keeps it in her private chambers. I’ll snatch it, show you, and have it back in place before you can say goblins.”

                 “Now _that_ is a bet,” Tork said delightedly, rubbing his hands together. “What do you all say to that?”

                “If he wants to get himself arrested then so be it,” Keel snapped. “I thought my kin were a little smarter than this but obviously I was mistaken.” She stalked away without another word, ignoring their protests for her to come back.

                “I think she approves,” Tork said jovially, clapping his hands together. “Right. Let’s get on with it then.”

                The walk to the Palace was a long one but Wick hardly noticed. He’d show them how clever he was. They didn’t believe him? Ha! _I have the prowess of a panther_ , he thought to himself happily, rolling along the streets with his wide gait. He ignored Brax, who muttered something about finding Keel and disappeared. He ignored Rade, who had started to sober up and was trying to dissuade him from the mission. As they approached the Palace even Tork began to slow his steps and eye the building warily.

                “You know Wick,” he said quietly, “Nobody would hold it against you if you changed your mind.”

                “Don’t _you_ start,” Wick replied. “I know that Palace like the back of my hand. I’ll be in and out –”

                “Before we can say goblins, we know,” Rade interrupted. “Thirty crowns isn’t worth being arrested over, cousin.”

                Wick waved a dismissive hand, already focusing on the window he would need to get to. They made their way to a huge marble wall in silence, boots rustling in the grass. The window was five stories up. Wick swallowed, thinking how much higher it looked close up. Still, even if the walk and his fear of heights had cleared his head somewhat, he couldn’t back down now. No matter what they said, they’d never let him live it down. Spying a thick growth of vines stretching up by the windows, Wick resigned himself to the climb and looked for the first foothold.

                The agitated mutterings of his cousins did nothing to help his sudden onset of nerves, but he persisted all the same. The vines held fast as he carefully sought out each step, holding on tightly. His confidence grew as he neared the window, soft light emanating from within. He could do this. He _was_ doing this. But then Tork hissed something and he looked down. And oh, he hadn’t realised how _high up_ he was and –

                With a groan of vertigo Wick scrabbled for the ledge of the nearest window, blissfully open, and hauled himself over the side into the Palace. Heart pounding, he landed with a hard thud on cold marble and took a few steadying breaths as his vision swam. When his pulse had stopped racing he glanced around at his surroundings. He was in the Queen’s private chambers certainly…but they were not empty. Voices emanated from behind a screen of violets that separated the drawing room from what he knew to be an office. It would have been fine, had he not taken the time to listen and realised it was the Queen’s voice that he heard. And that she was talking about Sarah and Jareth.

                Looking around to ensure that there was at least nobody in _this_ room, Wick took a few calming breaths and got to his feet. His head had cleared significantly in the panic of seconds ago; he tiptoed over to the screen with surprising finesse and strained to listen, pressing against the wall.

                “...are the only other one to who know about this; I don’t need to make myself any clearer do I?” The clear cold voice was unmistakably that of the Queen’s.

                “No, Ma’am. Sarah Williams must complete her task. She can’t do so if subjected to the scrutiny of the Council. I understand. She is not to be touched.” The female voice was one he’d heard before during the Queen’s meetings with the Fae Council, but without a face he couldn’t pick the name.

                “For now, at least,” the Queen replied icily. “The Fates only know what might happen if she doesn’t finish this soon.”

                “With respect, Ma’am, you already know what will happen. To us, at least. Jareth cannot be allowed to remain Goblin King for much longer. The incidents with the Dwarf territories are becoming almost regular. We can’t afford for that to spill over onto Fae Land.”

                “I’m aware of this,” the Queen hissed. “Why do you think I removed the spell on the Williams girl’s disguise? I thought it would move things along. It seemed to. She has assured me she’ll have his confession any day.”

                “It’s not enough.” That was a third voice, powerful and completely void of emotion. Wick knew it instantly: Ezra was the eldest member of the Fae Council. At three thousand years old, she commanded the highest respect next to the Queen herself. “You know what has to be done, Mira. Bad enough you let a human attend the Harvest, but to allow this entire charade to go on for so long…have you taken leave of your senses?”

                 Wick’s breath caught in his throat. Ezra was the only Fae who could talk to Mira El’Maven in such a way. There was silence for a moment.

                “I know it’s not enough, Ezra,” replied the Queen heavily. “You think I don’t understand what you’re saying? That I haven’t been considering the alternative this whole time?”

                “Then why have you not acted?” Ezra demanded impatiently.

                “There has never been a de-throning such as that during my three hundred years as Queen of the Domain. Forgive me for being reluctant to tarnish my public record so hastily.”

                “An interesting answer. For a moment I thought it was out of sentimentality over your son.”

                The council member Wick didn’t recognise spoke up. “Forgive me, Ma’am, Lady Ezra, but I don’t follow your conversation. What exactly are you alluding to?”

                “Ezra wants me to sign Jareth’s death warrant.”

                There was a silence so thick Wick could hear his own blood pounding in his ears. Licking dry lips, he edged as close to screen as he dared without revealing himself.

                “You wish to have him killed?”

“Jareth is no longer worthy of redemption in the eyes of the hordes,” the Queen continued. “The only way we are going to regain control is by publicly de-throning him in front of them, which means having his successor execute him.” If there was even the barest hint of emotion in that cruel explanation Wick couldn’t find it.

“And this would secure control?”

“It would earn the new King instant respect and restore desperately needed order.” Ezra too spoke with no more passion than as if they were discussing a game of chess.

“But…Ma’am –”

“Yes he is my son, Jini, I am aware!” snapped the Queen. “He has disappointed me too many times for that small fact to be of any more import. Did I not send my daughter into the Dust Bowl as punishment? Did you ever see me weep over the body of my dead husband? I am what I need to be.” A pause. Then, almost so quietly Wick had to focus hard to make it out: “I will do what I need to do.”

If he hadn’t been so anxious, so tired with fading drunkenness and so intent on listening, Wick might have noticed that he was moving closer to where the wall stopped and the screen of violets began. But he didn’t and so he crept forward meaning to lean into a wall that wasn’t there. He went tumbling through the screen and into the office with an undignified thump, landing flat on his face.

The Fae women turned to him in shock and outrage. The Queen’s frosty white appearance made his knees tremble; Ezra’s stern expression was borne of a centuries of practice, though one couldn’t tell from her youthful appearance. Jini was staring at him mildly, her shock reduced to simple surprise and almost a hint of disinterest.

 “Who in the Fate’s design is this?” Ezra demanded, casting a sharp finger at the unfortunate Elf.

“My new messenger,” answered the Queen. “It seems he’s taken it upon himself to listen to our conversation. Tell me, young Elf, were we entertaining for you?”

Wick didn’t dare answer. He couldn’t have if he tried. Shaking, he got to his knees, hands splayed in a sign of respect and a plea for forgiveness.

“This is typical of the Williams’ girl’s effect on my realm,” the Queen hissed bitterly to her companions. “She corrupts every being she meets. I daresay this Elf has befriended her and has every intention of warning her of Jareth’s fate.”

“No,” Wick managed to stammer, “I –”

“Then kill him and be done with it,” Ezra replied blankly. “He’s only an Elf.”

                “I have a better idea,” the Queen responded, her abrupt smile making Wick shiver down to his soul with fear. “Let’s see how Miss Williams likes it when _I_ change the people _she_ relies on.”

                She advanced on Wick, who threw himself at her and begged for mercy. She took hold of his arm, nails biting into skin as she hauled him to his feet. There was a murmur of Fae language, a sensation deep inside him like something being cut, and then there was nothing but the desire to serve.

 

 

 


	10. Catch and Release

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Again, sorry for a bit of wait during updates! Life I crazy busy, apparently. And I’m now sick as a dog, which you’d think would grant me more time in bed to write but it just makes me sleep in the hours I have to myself. But no matter. Here’s a little more sex and angst for you patient, wonderful people :)

**Chapter Nine: Catch and Release**

 

There was something she wasn’t telling him. Jareth might’ve been in love but he wasn’t a complete fool. She refused to talk of anything but the past or trivialities, driving their conversation towards anything other than the future. That in itself he could understand, feeling no desire to think ahead himself. If it were not for the fact that she looked on the point of tears whenever she thought he was asleep, he’d have thought her no more anxious than was to be expected. But Sarah wasn’t one to cry without good reason so he couldn’t help wondering what was running through her mind. Each time he lay back down beside her, almost truly asleep, she’d curl into herself and rub furiously at her eyes. He was happy that he’d taken the day off to spend it there in bed, for many reasons, but also since this new puzzle had come to his attention. But there was never anything he could force from her and so he let it slide, knowing that she would tell him in her own time.

                “Are you sure it was a good idea to take the day off?” she asked, awash in midday sun.

                “I _know_ it wasn’t,” he answered, trailing his fingers along her collarbone, between her breasts. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t do it once in a while.” He smiled at the hand she’d threaded into his hair. “Are you bored of me already? Would you like me to go about my Kingly duties?” His hand hovered over her skin, waiting for an answer.

                “Don’t you dare,” she replied, pulling him down for a kiss. “As far as I’m concerned, we are never leaving this bed.”

                “My how you’ve changed your tune,” he remarked with a smirk against her lips. “I remember the days you frequently told me to go to hell.”

“And I still will if you deserve it,” she answered, running a hand down to brush against the tip of his cock with a wicked smile. He twitched, leaning over to draw a nipple into his mouth, tongue swirling. “But how – mmm – how could I resist you when I found out you were as big a nerd as me? I was doomed.”

He ceased his ministrations, pulling back to stare at her. “I’m sorry? In what way am I a _nerd_?”

“You’re a poetry geek,” Sarah replied with an affectionate laugh. “And a sucker for literature. You’re a huge bookworm. Don’t you know that?”

She made it sound as if he were some gawky human teenager with a dictionary tucked under his arm. “I’m not sure I agree with you, pet.”

“It’s a compliment!” she assured him, stroking his cock in a way that had him very much inclined to agree with anything she said. “Knowledge is sexy, Jareth. Trust me.”

“Would you still say that if – ah –” he paused to gasp – “If I weren’t so devilishly good looking?”

“Haven’t we been over this? It wouldn’t matter if we were snails on a window ledge; I’d still choose you in every life.”

The sensations she caused swiping her thumb over his tip were making it difficult to concentrate. “Even if – if I were a snail?” He returned to swirling her nipples into delicate peaks with his tongue.

“Even if you were a particularly slimy snail with a big crack in his shell and one eye.”

It was probably more the sentiment behind it, but he never would have thought he’d groan so avidly at such a sentence. Releasing her breast, he clutched at Sarah’s hips and pulled her into his lap, nails digging into the skin of her waist. She was an enchantress, that must be it. That was surely why he found it so difficult to focus on important matters. He was under her spell: doomed to spend his days in this bed without reprieve, unable to concentrate for too long on anything but the feel of her on top of him, beneath him, all around him. _What are you **doing** to me?_

“I could ask you the same,” she whispered into his ear, making him wonder if he had actually spoken aloud or she was just acquiring the ability to hear his thoughts. The latter wouldn’t have really surprised him, honestly. Thankfully the incessant chatter of his mind ceased the minute she sank down onto his cock, drawing him in until they both moaned at the depth. Settling her hands on his shoulders Sarah pressed her face into his neck and began to move.

Each roll of her hips sent a ripple of pleasure through him; each time she sucked on his skin he could do nothing but sigh. Fisting a hand in her hair Jareth tugged her head back and returned the favour, nipping at her neck with vicious appreciation. He snaked his free hand down between them and rubbed at her clit, eliciting a surprised breathy curse from her. It didn’t take long for them to become fevered with urgency, kissing and writhing and groaning their way through another bout of sex as they’d been doing all night and morning. Jareth encouraged her with fervent words and purposeful touches, rolling ever onwards to his own climax while he kissed Sarah’s throat and tried to pretend he hadn’t noticed that blue mark on her wrist.

 

* * *

 

 

Sarah was being an idiot. She knew it. But as far as she was concerned there was no other way to be when you were completely fucked. She was in love with a Goblin King and had promised his mother she would help trick him. Why _wouldn’t_ she also go ahead and make it worse by sleeping with him? Why _wouldn’t_ she then let him cancel his plans – which happened to be crushing a dangerous rebellion – just so they could stay in bed and jump each other every few hours? If there had ever been a point of return before there was _definitely_ no such thing now. She’d been reckless and ruined everything…but what hurt the most was the truth – that she’d do it all over again. Collapsing against his chest, letting them both fall to the mattress utterly spent, Sarah regretted nothing. If she had to cry when he was asleep just to cope, then so be it.

                When some small amount of energy came back to them Sarah suggested they take a bath. Maybe scrubbing at her skin would help make her soul feel less dirty. That was a naïve moment on her part. Why had she thought that sitting in a warm tub with a glistening Jareth would lead to anything but slow and messy bath sex? It was only after they’d gotten that out of the way that she could lean back into his slick chest and feel vague stirrings of contentment. Jareth had his eyes closed, chin resting on her shoulder, idly murmuring the poems he was tracing into her arms.

                “Do you remember what you were like as a boy?” she asked around a yawn.

                “Of course,” he responded mildly; she felt his jaw moving against her skin. “Do you think I’ve gone senile?”

                “No, I just wondered…three hundred years is a long time.” She took one of his hands and started to toy with his fingers, massaging the digits.

“Not for us it isn’t. I recall things in my life just as any other. Perhaps even better.”

“So what were you like then?”

“As a boy?”

“Mm.”

“Oh…” he puffed out his cheeks, exhaling softly over her neck as he thought. “I was known as something of a larrikin, you might say.”

“Of course you were,” she grinned. “You were a hell raiser, weren’t you?”

“Only in reputation, I assure you. Lina was the one that got herself into trouble. I only took the blame for her.”

“I’m sensing a theme with you and your sister.”

He didn’t answer, just leant back into the tub and pulled her snug against him, arms around her middle. She rested her head against his shoulder and gazed up at the ceiling.

“I’ll ask Wick if we can see her again tonight,” she told him distantly, wondering if they would go back to the Festival that evening. Could she handle the stress of parading around with him in public, acting as if nothing earth-shattering had happened?

“You’re too good to me,” Jareth murmured, lips on her cheek.

_I’m really not,_ she thought wistfully, turning to steal a proper kiss. A thought occurred to her. “Do you remember your first kiss then?”

“You’re an inquisitive little thing, aren’t you?” he teased. “Although I suppose I encourage it. Yes, Sarah, I remember.”

“How old were you?”

“Twenty-six.”

“What!” she spluttered, holding back a laugh. “ _Twenty-six?_ For just a kiss?”

“It took me a while to grow into my looks,” he sniffed. “I spent my early years as a rather gangly, shaggy haired youth. Not to mention my being a _bookworm_ , as you so eloquently put it…it took me a while to catch the eye of women.” When she didn’t say anything he added a defensive: “What?”

“I’m just trying to imagine you as an awkward teenager,” she answered, smile obvious in her voice. “Long arms and legs, pimply nose pressed into a book, maybe a pair of glasses…”

“Careful pet, you’re treading thin water,” he warned half-heartedly, giving her neck a playful nip. “You did promise to choose me even as a snail.”

“That’s right, I did. So what was it like? The kiss?”

“Quite beautiful, actually,” he answered thoughtfully. “She was a friend of Lina’s whom I’d become very fond of. One afternoon she sought me out, which I thought quite odd – she’d never bothered before. She told me that she was promised to a Lord in Eberhard but she’d always liked me – and then she kissed me right there in the hallway. I never saw her again after that.”

Sarah curled his hand into her chest. “I don’t know if that’s really romantic or really sad.”

“Well I could tell you about all the women I had after that, if you think it’d be a less solemn subject.” She could feel him smiling against her shoulder blade.

Did he expect her to act jealous? To say she never wanted to think of him with another woman? Well, two could play his game. “While we’re at it how about we just swap stories?” she answered, feigning enthusiasm. “I’ll go first. My first time was with a guy called Troy. I was seventeen, I finally had nice boobs – we did it on his couch in summer. There was a lot of sweat. I smoked my first cigarette afterwards. Your turn.”

He was grinning into her back; she could feel his teeth at the nape of her neck. Without hesitation he replied: “I was twenty-eight. Her name was Eva. She had huge breasts and a gorgeous mouth; we shagged blind drunk in a field one night and every night for the whole week following.”

The way he said _shagged_ in that delicious accent did things to her. Determined not to be beat, she thought up another amorous adventure that she could exaggerate. “Matt liked public places; we always let ourselves get too worked up to wait.I gave him head once in the Reference section of the public library.” She could feel him tensing behind her and grinned. “Your turn, I believe?”

“I hardly believe you would defile your sacred library,” he replied, tone a little too forcibly casual.

“Oh it wasn’t _my_ local place,” she responded cheerfully. “Not that time at least. There _was_ an incident involving an armchair and a photocopy machine in mine. And then there was…let me see…his parents’ back yard, a mini golf tournament, the bathroom in the Museum of Natural History –”

“All right,” Jareth sighed in defeat, clutching her tightly with his free hand. “You win, pet. Enough.”

“You wouldn’t think you could be turned on in a room full of dead insects but seriously –”

“Sarah –”

“And then the _dinosaur exhibit,_ oh my god –”

“ _Sarah –_ ” Jareth clamped a hand over her mouth with a growl.

Grinning against his palm she tried to pry it off, chuckling at the sudden strength of his kisses along her neck.

“If I let you go, will you behave?” he murmured into her ear, nipping at the soft skin.

Nodding, she turned her face the moment he let go and captured his mouth in a kiss. He dug his nails into her hipbone, holding her flush against him as they kissed each other into a stupor.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, threading a hand into his wet hair. “I was just playing with you.”

“I know.” He nuzzled her cheek, lips pressed to jaw, neck, ear. He swept a thumb over her bottom lip.

Sarah suddenly hated herself for the way she trembled under his touch, for the gentle way she caught his thumb between her teeth momentarily. “Jareth…” she sighed, his name a balm for her aching heart. They were safe, she thought, as long as they didn’t say _it_. She could figure something out. They were safe as long as –

“Sarah, I –”

“Stop.” She covered his mouth with a hand, surprising them both with the speed of her action. “Don’t say it. Don’t.”

With a tenderness that broke her heart, Jareth kissed her palm. She took it away and drew it into her chest as if he’d bitten her. “I know you’re afraid,” he said gently. “I understand why. But –”

“ _No_ , you don’t,” she replied forcefully. It was an effort to turn around enough to properly meet his gaze but she managed it. “I mean it Jareth. You can’t ever say that to me.”

                “Sarah –” he broke off, hearing something she couldn’t. His face went blank in the familiar way it did when he was being summoned. When the calling faded his expression turned to one of utmost frustration and impatience. “I have to go.” He gently encouraged her to stand so he could extricate himself from the bath.

                “Was it another wish?” she asked needlessly, just to cover the sound of her thumping heart.

                “Mmm,” he nodded, summoning a towel to him and drying off quickly. “And here I was thinking I could have a day off. How foolish of me.” He was all efficiency and grace, using magic to dress himself in the appropriate Goblin King garb. Sarah couldn’t help thinking that terrible armoured outfit wasn’t as impressive as it used to be. It symbolised too much to be attractive any longer.

                “When…when will you be back?” she asked, leaning on the edge of the tub.

                “No idea,” he answered stiffly as a black cape whirled into existence around his shoulders. “Although the process doesn’t seem to last long these days.”

                She shuddered at what that inferred, at the slaughter he was bound to attend. “I’ll wait up for you,” she assured him. _I will be there for you._

                He strode back over to her and placed a chaste kiss against the top of her head, suddenly all false smiles and charm. “You will not. You will enjoy yourself. Go to the library. Sit in the garden with your friends,” he commanded in a falsely cheerful voice. “When I return we’ll go back to the Harvest, if you’d like. There’s a lot you haven’t seen yet.” If he had any intention of mentioning anything more important, he didn’t show it. They were both becoming such fluid actors, even around each other. It made her sad.

                “Sure,” she muttered, laying her cheek on her arm. “Sounds fun.”

                “I’ll see you later,” he said with another false smile before vanishing.

His absence left her feeling distinctly hollowed out, as if he’d taken the core of her with him. She inspected her left wrist bitterly. “I hate you,” she said aloud, uncertain if she was talking to the Queen or herself.

 

* * *

 

 

When Sarah was a little girl she made a mess of tying her shoelaces. It didn’t seem to matter which way her mother explained it, every time she tried to do it on her own she’d make a bundle of knots. One morning before day care she’d heard her parents fighting in the kitchen. She’d thought that getting herself ready would make them happier. When her mother had found her a few minutes later, top inside out and skirt back-to-front, sneakers tied together in disarray, Sarah had cried with embarrassment. She’d tried to do something helpful but had only made things worse. _Now we’ll be late_ , she’d cried. But her mother had wiped away her tears and kissed her on the head. Together they’d set about sorting her outfit. This was what Sarah had learnt at a young age: the only way to fix anything was one step at a time.

                The image of untangling rainbows one knot at a time was powerful in that moment.

                “One step at a time,” she muttered to herself, peering into the vanity mirror.

Jareth had gone off for the day and she’d procrastinated the afternoon away by playing a ball game in the gardens with Didymus.

_“Can I ask you something?”_

_“Of course fair maiden! Speak questions to thine heart’s content!” he replied, rushing to catch the ball she threw at him._

_“If you were being forced to do something for someone, which **might** involve hurting someone you care about…what would you do?”_

_He was on alert instantly. “Hast some wicked villain **threatened** you, sweet lady? I shall have his hide! I shall rip his –”_

_“No!” Sarah lied firmly. “It’s just a question, Didymus. I’m not in any danger, I prom – I’m not in trouble.” She was sick of making promises._

_“Oh.” He looked lost without the need to seek retribution on her behalf. “Well then, I suppose…I wouldst attempt to plead for another choice. One that does not involve surrendering my good friend to potential hardship.”_

_“So ask them **not** to threaten me or my friends? That’s all you’ve got?”_

_“It **is** merely a hypothetical, is it not? Don’t let it distress you too greatly.”_

But distress her it did because it was the best plan she had. Wick was still not answering calls. She wished she could be happy assuming he was busy enjoying his week off. However, there was no ignoring the tiny voice of unease that suggested he might’ve gotten in trouble for the dream state thing. But there was no way anybody could have found out about that, right? Only his cousins were there to witness it and why would they turn him in?

                “Why would anyone betray anybody else?” she grumbled, forcibly reminded yet again of her own dire situation. Shaking off the thought, she took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Okay Sarah. You can do this. You’re just going to make one more little demand, that’s all. One more promise and then you’ll give her what she needs.” The pep talk was actually helping, ridiculous as she felt. It was nice to feel silly for a change instead of the usual cocktail of adrenalin, anguish and lust. “And if she doesn’t go for that, you get down on your hands and knees and you beg so pathetically that she feels embarrassed for you.”

                It was a pitiful plan. It wasn’t going to achieve anything. Sarah physically smacked a hand against the glass and practically shouted to see the Fae Queen before she lost her nerve.

 

* * *

 

 

The girl that stepped through the gateway was a different person to the one she’d been months ago. That young thing had been full of equal parts fight and naivety. This creature was new. She held herself with aplomb but in those green eyes Mira saw a wild thing scared of cages. A human who had lost and found too much to ever be the same. _What is it you have found to make you so?_ Her lips were pressed tightly together, eyes narrowed in austerity.

                “Your Majesty,” Sarah curtsied without hesitation. In an ill-fitted shirt and a faded pair of shorts, she should have been absurdly out of place among them. And yet she moved with careful assurance, determined to achieve whatever it was she had come here to do. And again, there was that look in her eyes: something desperate, something calculative, something almost Fae in itself.

                “Sarah,” Mira acknowledged with a stiff nod. “Why have you requested audience with me?”

                “I need you to make an alteration to your vow,” she said plainly.

                Mira said nothing. She was starting to expect this type of thing from the girl.

                “I want you to promise that you won’t hurt Jareth in any way when de-throning him. Send him somewhere for penance, make him a farmer, let him tend chickens for all I care. But you aren’t allowed to hurt him.”

                “I’m not _allowed_?” Mira repeated indignantly. “Are you truly so arrogant as to presume control over my actions, girl?”

                “I’m not presuming anything,” she replied with a shrug. “Except that I have your son in a position to confess, and he won’t do a thing unless I say so.”

                Her outrage fluttered like a bird in a cage, flinging itself at the bars in vain. She would not let it break free. She would keep a tight rein in order to handle things properly. “And how have you secured this with such certainty?”

                “By lying, of course. He thinks I’m head over heels for him.”

 If only there wasn’t that touch of fevered panic in her eyes, Mira would almost believe it. She decided to test her. “No.”

A flicker of a frown, hands itched to turn to fists. “No?”

“I will not amend my vow to you. What’s said is said.”

Sarah lifted her chin and met Mira’s gaze with resolute calm. “It must suck to rely so much on humanity.”

“What?”

“You act so high and mighty all the time. ‘Oh, the Fae are the only race responsible for this reality and blah blah blah’…it’s bullshit. Where do you get all your power from? What are you harvesting right now? _Human dreams._ Our imaginations are enough power your entire world. Doesn’t that terrify you? That one day we might stop dreaming and you’ll cease to exist? Must make you bitter, huh?”

“On the contrary,” Mira bit back. “You are doomed to your small, short little lives in a realm without magic. Humanity will never stop dreaming of things it cannot hope to possess. I do not fear you; I pity you.”

“You shouldn’t. We’re capable of amazing things. Better than anything you can do with simple little magic tricks.”

Mira laughed. It was rusty and unusual in her throat, an uncommon sound. But it was genuine all the same…because the Fae woman knew she was close to winning. “I will never grow accustomed to the strength of your foolish spirit,” she said with a shake of her head. “Very well, Sarah Williams. I shall make one adjustment to my vow. Come forth.” She held out a hand and snatched up the girl’s warily proffered wrist quickly. “I amend my vow to you. I will do no harm to Jareth El’Maven upon his arrest. Nor will you come to any harm at such a time. I still pledge to restore your existence in the Above upon your return to it and to grant freedom to your friends.” This time she spoke the final lines with unmistakable warning in her voice. “If you reciprocate his feelings then you must accept the full consequences of your actions. This is my vow. May I hold myself to it from now until the Last Days.” When it was over Mira released the girl, who couldn’t seem to believe her luck.

She was holding her freshly marked wrist tenderly and appeared at a loss for words. “Thank you,” Sarah stammered, looking around for the mirror that had yet to show itself. Her easy victory, oddly enough, seemed to have leeched the confidence from her.

“Before you go, I wish to ask something.”

Once again she noticed that caged expression in response.

“Why concern yourself with the safety of my son? Why come here and make demands of a Fae Queen that you have no right to make?”

 “We’ve become friends,” Sarah said quietly with a shrug. “I don’t like seeing my friends in pain. Simple as that.”

The answer was a clear lie, which she’d expected. Mira let it go and dismissed the girl, satisfied that she would soon have order restored to her Domain.

 

* * *

 

 

It didn’t feel like she’d won. Legs curled under her on the carpet, Sarah stared at the new scarring on her wrist with unease. It was purplish and overlapped the feint blue ring, twining them together. It wasn’t blistering but rather looked as if it were old, bumpy when touched. It stung as if it were new and made her feel as if she’d done something ridiculously naïve. But the Queen only agreed so fast because it meant that Sarah would finish her task, right? _She promised not to hurt him_ , Sarah repeated a few times to herself. _He’s safe, no matter what happens next._

                Clutching the wrist to her chest Sarah closed her eyes, head titled back. “Wick,” she murmured. “Wick, please come see me. I need your advice. I need to talk to you.” He hadn’t answered earlier, before she went to see the Queen, so she didn’t quite expect an answer now.

                Maybe he’d noticed the obvious pleading tone in her voice, or maybe he was finally recovering from a night of drinking – either way, Sarah noticed a shape stepping out of the mirror and scrambled anxiously to her feet. “Oh thank god!” she cried. “It’s so good to see you –”

                It wasn’t Wick stomping over the vanity and crushing things beneath booted feet. It was Keel, his sharp-eyed cousin, holding up her skirts as she jumped to the floor and glared at Sarah viciously. “ _You_ ,” she growled low in her throat, stalking towards her prey. She actually gripped Sarah by the arms and shook her with surprising strength, furious face pressed close. “I told him not to get involved with you and your mess and look what happened!” she shouted. “You sent him into the dragon’s den armed with a stick! You’ve _ruined_ him, Sarah Williams, my poor cousin is broken and it’s entirely your fault –”

                “Keel, that’s _enough_ ,” came a voice of firm reason, pulling the Elf woman off a bewildered Sarah. Freed from the violent tirade Sarah realised that Tork had also stepped through the mirror and was now gripping his cousin tightly by the arm. “I’m sorry she startled you,” he added, looking paler and older than when she’d seen him just the other day.

                “What – what did you mean?” Sarah asked Keel hoarsely, numb with the thought of what might have happened to her friend. “What’s wrong with Wick?”

                “He’ll never be the same again,” Keel spat angrily. “Because of _you –_ ”

                “ _Hush_ cousin, you’re too angry for useful conversation,” Tork interrupted emphatically. He addressed Sarah with a heavy expression. “Wick has been Severed, Sarah.”

                The word terrified her though she had no idea what it meant. “Severed?”

                “The Queen has cut him off from his True Self,” Tork replied sombrely. “He can only serve, with no access to his real soul.”

                Overwhelming fury pooled inside Sarah. “Why?” she asked, voice trembling with outrage. “Why did she do that to him?”

                “Because of _you_ ,” Keel hissed. “His whole involvement with you has meant nothing but taking risks this whole time.”

                “So the Queen found out about the visit with Lina?”

                “She caught him eavesdropping on a conversation last night,” Tork explained, looking significantly abashed. “We had drinks, you see, to celebrate helping you. And it came about that Wick started to boast of how he’d been relaying information about the Royal Family back to you for months. We…we didn’t believe him. So he made a bet to prove that he could make it into the Palace without being seen.”

                “A foolish act that _you_ encouraged him towards,” the Elf woman growled at her cousin.

                “I know I did wrong by him,” Tork snapped. “I will carry this weight for the rest of my life. I don’t need to keep hearing it from you.”

                “And she caught him?” Sarah asked, feeling cold inside and out. Her skin prickled. There was a high pitched buzzing in her ears. “He tried to sneak in but she caught him and cut out his soul?”

                “It hasn’t been cut _out_ , precisely,” Tork answered. “But he can no longer access it. He exists as nothing but a servant now.”

                A horrible sense of resignation was settling over Sarah’s itching skin. The buzzing stopped; the world seemed crystal clear before her eyes. She was going to untie the knots she’d created. “Can it be reversed?” she asked quietly.

                “…only by a very powerful Fae,” Tork answered slowly, clearly put off by her reaction. “But I don’t see why the Queen would –”

                “I’ll fix it,” Sarah told them both firmly. She felt as if she were breathing thin air, walking on glass. Yet her voice radiated dreadful conviction. “I’ll fix everything. I promise.”

 

* * *

 

 

There was not a scrap left of the lad. He’d had such promise, the determined idiot, making it all the way to the gates of the Goblin City. And now there was nothing but the metallic tang of blood in the air to say that Thomas O’Reilly had ever existed at all. Soon it would be the same for his younger brother, who would be inducted into the City soon enough. Jareth felt sick at heart. Finishing the report in his ledger he threw down the quill with shaking fingers and turned away from his work in disgust. It was beyond a joke now. He’d let this happen to his Kingdom. _He_ was the reason these humans died every day. It was becoming very apparent that there was only one possible outcome at the end of all this. It made sense, he knew, and couldn’t begrudge the truth of that. Face in hands, Jareth sighed long and deep, exhausted beyond measure. Yes, there was only one way things were going to change…but he couldn’t do it. Not yet. There were still matters to attend to.

                When he made contact with his mother and requested a meeting, he thought it odd that she wasn’t surprised. They spoke in regularly scheduled occurrences and only then of politics and duty. To meet her now with no forewarning at this time of the night – she should have been suspicious to say the least. But then again, much as he loathed to admit it…his mother was smart.

                “You know why I’m here,” he said brusquely.

                For once Mira was not perched in that throne looking down her nose at him. She sat on a marble bench against the wall, bare feet tucked into the undergrowth around them. She nodded at his words. Her face was impassive as ever, too unkind to ever be beautiful. It was an irony Jareth never tired of: father had been so plain in appearance and yet his personality had made him glow brilliantly in comparison to his pretty, stale wife. Looking at her now, completely unresponsive to the reality between them, Jareth knew he would never understand her even if he lived an eternity.

                “You won’t put Lina in my place,” he continued in the same tone as before. There was no other way to go about this with a woman like Mira. He didn’t pose it as a question.

                “No,” she answered, inspecting a garden of flowers beside her. “She is too weak to control the hordes as they are now. It would be a waste of all her time learning in the Dust Bowl.”

                Jareth’s fingers curled tightly into fists at his side. “She is not _weak_ ,” he replied coldly. “She has never been weak.”

                “Then why did you beg to be her replacement so desperately?” she countered stiffly.

                “Because she’s my sister and I would die for her,” he answered sharply. “I _have_ died, every day, handling this Kingdom for her sake.”

                “And who will you die for now, Jareth? Who else will you be a martyr for?”

                Neither one of them uttered the answer.

                “Just let me say goodbye to her,” he murmured. “Give me this last night, mother. I am your _son_ , if that means anything to you at all.”

                She blinked and studied him with a curious expression. “I have never understood you,” she said mildly.

                “And now, mother of mine, you never will,” he answered.

                “No, I suppose not,” she replied, unaffected. “Very well. A few more hours. Go.”

                And with a heavy heart, Jareth went.

 

* * *

 

 

Sometimes life was _unfair_. Sarah had no qualms about such a thought that evening. She knew that other’s lives were difficult too; people suffered through cruelty, divorce, abuse and isolation. She was old enough to understand that she was actually quite lucky in life.

                But right now, waiting for Jareth, there was no other way to put it: it wasn’t _fair_.

                Why had she gone and fallen so painfully hard for a man she was doomed to betray? What had been the point of it, learning him and loving him and changing as a human, if she just had to give him up now anyway?

                “But that’s the way it is,” she told herself firmly, arms wrapped around her middle. She paced the length of Jareth’s bedroom floor, having invited herself in to wait for him. No, nothing would ever be okay again. Maybe she’d be allowed to see him once in a while; maybe he’d only be punished for a few years and then they could be together again. There was no way of knowing. The only certainty in Sarah’s mind as she walked back and forth across the carpet was that it had to be done. It was the right thing to do. At least she had secured Jareth’s safety, if that was any small comfort.

                She had a speech planned for when he showed up. A declaration of the things she’d learnt from him and the ways she adored him. A plea for forgiveness after she confessed what needed to be confessed. It would be all right, she kept telling herself. He would forgive her because he loved her and they would figure it out. It was the right thing to do. _It had to be done_. They could figure it out. Words tangled in a nervous repetitive mantra as time wore on. She gave up pacing and sat in the middle of his bed, hugging knees to chest. It would be okay. It had to be done. He would forgive her. Even if he didn’t, maybe that would be best for him. It might be easier to suffer exile if you could gather strength from hating someone. The very idea of Jareth hating her brought tears to her eyes. As she was wiping them away with cold determination Sarah thought about Wick, whose fate had brought her to this decision.

                She thought about his sharp warm smile and genuine soul, his snarky comments and wide eyes. She recalled the damp heat of his feverish head when he’d slept on her lounge and the adorably hungover expression of his face. He was always filled with a strength from within. It didn’t come from that lanky green body but from somewhere deep inside. It was why she adored him and why he’d done so much for her. And why his horrific punishment was all her fault, because she’d been so damn _adamant_ about getting him to find Lina –

                _Oh, Lina_. As if a cold wind suddenly blew, Sarah shivered. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t ask Jareth to confess. Because asking him to give in would mean asking him to risk Lina being made Goblin Queen, as she was meant to decades ago. She had no doubt that he would gladly go to jail for Sarah but there was not a star in the world he wouldn’t move to keep his sister safe. Safe, which meant _away_ from the Goblin Realm…which meant that she couldn’t ask him to abandon it. Hot tears of panic fell at the realisation. The world became a blur as she was overcome with anxiety; she barely noticed a figure standing in the doorway. In a heartbeat that figure resolved into Jareth, the only solid thing in her existence. He was on the bed with her in an instant, folding her into his arms.

                “I don’t know what to do,” she told him desperately, voice high and shaky. “I don’t know what the fuck to do, Jareth. Every way I turn I’ll be letting someone down. There’s no way out.”

                “Ssssh,” he soothed, running fingers through her dark hair. “There’s always a way out, pet.”

                “I need to tell you something,” she murmured against his skin, inhaling his earthy, warm smell. Would it be the last time she’d ever be enveloped so completely by him?

                “In a minute,” he replied gently. “First I want to kiss you.”

                He hesitated at the last moment, holding back just enough to cup her chin, nuzzle her nose with his own. A small galaxy filled the space between their mouths, a whole universe of lives spent together and love shared without consequence. And then he hummed, a discontented, hungry sound that spilled forth as he consumed her. They kissed in an attempt to live out a whole reality in the span of a few seconds. Images flashed through her mind: how ridiculous Jareth would look watching television in her apartment; introducing him to her own library; how he might propose; fighting over a side of the bed. They were flights of fancy, idealistic notions of what might have been. It drove her to seek out more, to stretch out the moment for as long as possible.

                She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down on top of her. Apparently just as eager to stall heartache, Jareth gripped her chin and held fast as he kissed the air from her lungs. Dizziness overcame her for a hundred different reasons: the need to breathe, the intense heat pooling in her middle, the taste of his tongue, the sounds he made against her mouth. He looked starved; it wouldn’t have been surprising to find that he’d impatiently dissolved their clothes away with magic. Yet he turned his attention to the art with great care. Sarah knew he was memorising everything: the catch of her breath when he pulled down her shorts, the flush of her skin as he dragged up her shirt. His fervent expression clashed with the gentle fluidity of his movements, as if he were forcing patience on himself.

                It made her want to cry for a moment, until she realised she should be doing the same thing. Why should he have all the memories while she laid there simultaneously numb and on fire? Threading fingers into Jareth’s hair Sarah brought him close and rolled them over. He sat up, running hands along her thighs as she worked the fastenings of his vest. She pressed her forehead to his, revelling in his sigh on her cheek, the soft bumping of noses. Throwing the clothes aside she tasted his neck, kissed his ear, bit gently on his collarbone. Her hands brushed against cold metal and she paused to remove the pendant he still wore.

                “What is this anyway?” she murmured into the silence, carefully placing the necklace to the far side of the bed.

                “An inheritance from my father,” he answered, deftly removing her bra and ravishing her breasts in turn.

She arched backwards, grinding into his lap, eliciting moans from them both. Jareth’s hands rested in the small of her back, encouraging a steady rhythm against him. The pressure had her flushed from head to toe, eyes rolling shut under the wet onslaught of his mouth. The edges of her vision were starting to blur. It was too much and not enough. Thankfully he seemed to think the same, growling as he rolled them over and started tearing at his pants with impatience. She sat up to help, stroking his released cock in the process. Would there ever be another time where he would look at her like that? With heavy-lidded eyes and a groan waiting to escape his mouth, as if she were the sexiest thing in the world? Would she ever again lie back and feel his hand travel down her sternum as if he wanted nothing more than to touch her heart?

Jareth settled between her thighs, entwining a hand with hers as she took hold of his cock. Sarah licked her lips at the teasing slick head of him, meeting his shadowed gaze when they came together in one smooth movement. It was impossible to look at him and not hear the silent question: _last time?_ Yet he didn’t feel any different. Sarah had expected something to change, to feel as if the world was ending. Maybe his kisses were more frequent, his thrusting more urgent…but she was so overwhelmed by raw ecstasy that it was difficult to let the future burden her. So she let him move her, felt bliss tugging at them from afar. She peppered his face with kisses; bit his shoulder when it became too much; whispered scattered prose against his ear. They moved with careful ease, drawing out each moan with measured need. She was sure that neither one of them had any desire to let it end. When she came, it was magic and fire and ice tainted only by the smallest hint of reluctance. But you couldn’t run forever. Sooner or later the story had to finish. Sarah gathered him into her arms and buried her face in his neck, tasting the salt of his skin and her own tears.

 

* * *

 

 

Jareth knew that if he didn’t do something soon he never would. He was far too comfortable propped against the headboard with Sarah reading poetry to him from a book. It would be a fine way to spend the rest of his life, he mused wistfully.

“I like this one,” Sarah murmured, pointing out something he hadn’t quite been paying attention to.

“Who is it?” he replied distantly. It was difficult to concentrate when he was fighting the sudden impulse to gather her in his arms and spirit them away to some hiding place a whole life away.

“Anne Michaels,” she answered, shifting softly against him. The pad of her finger made a delicate tap against the old page. “‘Like the light of anything that grows from this newly-turned earth, every tip of me gathers under your touch, wind wrapping my dress around our legs, your shirt twisting to flowers in my fists.’ Isn’t it beautiful?”

It was impossible not to be grounded by those words and her voice. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, catching the moment’s scent: the feint dust of the book, the fading smell of sex, Sarah’s floral musk.

“Very nice,” he replied hoarsely. “Did you see where my necklace went?”

With a frown she glanced around and spied it near the edge of the bed. With a careful shuffle she retrieved it, letting the pendant hang between her fingers. She traced the lines of the insignia. “It’s quite pretty, isn’t it?” she murmured.

“Mmm,” he agreed. “Put it on.”

“What?”

“I want you to have it.”

She eyed him warily. “Jareth, it was your dad’s…”

“I mean it, Sarah. Please. Put it on.”

Reluctantly she obliged, slipping the cord around her neck and fastening the clasp. It hung low between her breasts, glinting silver and gold. As much as he detested anything to do with the Fae, he had to admit she wore it well. A complicated mix of emotions swelled within, threatening to spill over. Wordlessly he leaned in and kissed her to keep them at bay a little longer. She was soft against him like a sigh, fingers scraping lightly along his neck. _I can’t do it,_ a voice whispered in the back of his mind. Not because he was afraid but because he didn’t ever want to leave her.

“I have to ask you something,” he gasped against her lips.

Her response was a throaty hum, muffled by the way she curled into him.He sought out her left wrist and brushed his fingers over it, feeling her stiffen instantly.

“Is it worth it?” he murmured. “Whatever they’ve promised you?”

There was only silence and moonlight in the room. Then: “I don’t know anymore,” she whispered, sounding for all the world like a lost little girl. “No.” Biting her lip, Sarah looked as if she were about to jump from a ledge. Or, more accurately, being _pushed_ from it.

He curled his hand around her wrist and brought it to his lips, placing a kiss against the mark. His eyes stayed on hers intently. “I can read it, if you like,” he offered quietly. “It’s quite easy to read vows on skin.”

She didn’t make a sound, just nodded with a resignation that made him uneasy. They kissed, his gentle grip becoming firm. He closed his eyes and sought what would be his undoing.

 

* * *

 

 

He’d thought about death a lot for an immortal. It was a curiosity to him, especially after the fate of his father and his sister’s lover. Granted such longevity, how did one comprehend the end? It was a strange concept to someone with countless centuries in which to live. Or _not_ live, as he had thought some decades ago, wondering if he was even truly alive. Now Jareth had no doubt. Loving Sarah made the blood run fresh through his veins. Loving Sarah made him feel younger than he’d ever felt, even as a boy. It was easy to boast that he would die for her. It was not so easy to acknowledge the terror he’d been feeling at the thought of leaving her alone. He never wanted to leave her with nothing.

                But now he knew that she wouldn’t be.

                Mira would reinstate Sarah’s existence Above; she could go back to her family without consequence. Her friends would be freed from the castle. Sarah would be far from alone, even if it meant losing Jareth. And beyond that, his Kingdom would flourish under new leadership. The realms would be guaranteed safety once again. Lina would be okay. That his mother had promised she wouldn’t harm him…that was a vow he saw through instantly. There was no other way for this to end than in his death. But so what? He wasn’t afraid. What could he deny Sarah, the woman who had breathed life into him? If his demise granted her normality, then so be it. She might not _thank_ him for it, given how she felt about him…but she would be all right one day. She’d be alive and safe, which was all that mattered. Besides that, she’d instilled in him a strong belief in reincarnation, a trust that they would always find each other. It was only a matter of waiting to meet her in the next life.

                He could do this now. He would take the responsibility away from his beloved Sarah, who had backed herself into a corner by caring too much.

                Resurfacing from the reading, he was surprised by the anger in her expression. “Before you start hating me, I want you to know that your mother gave me no choice,” she said boldly.

                Had he expected her to be crying and pleading for forgiveness? No; she wouldn’t be Sarah Williams then. “I know,” he answered quietly.

                “And I didn’t do it for any nasty reason, even if I did hate you in the beginning.”

                “I know.”

                “As soon as I realised how I felt, I tried to fix it. I tried to gain some control back.”

                “I know.”

                “Your mother is a bitch.”

                He chuckled despite himself. “Sarah, _I know_.”

                “And –”

                He silenced her with a forceful kiss, fisting her hair tightly and biting on her lip. Was it some subdued attempt at punishing her for lying? Maybe. But he thought it more likely that he was just so turned on by the fire in her, at the expression that clearly said _don’t you dare be mad at me._

                “So,” she stammered in the wake of his interruption. “So you don’t hate me then?”

                He ducked his head to hers. “I could never hate you.”

                “Why not? I lied to you. I tricked you. I screwed you over big time, Jareth. You almost got arrested because of me.”

                None of that mattered in the least to him. He understood doing what you had to in order to protect those you loved. “Because you’re my soul mate,” he answered simply, sweeping back the hair from her face. “You might have come to me for the wrong reasons but it doesn’t matter now. We were meant to be, Sarah.”

                She bumped her nose against his, sighing on his cheek. “Why do you make me feel like the luckiest doomed woman in the world?” Her smile was thin. “I _am_ sorry, Jareth. Really.”

                “I know, pet.”

                “Stop knowing so much.” She kissed him. “What are we going to do now? I can’t see a way out of this, short of running for the hills.”     

                “Relax,” he murmured, fingers brushing against her jaw. “I’ll sort it out.”

                “How? How can you just _sort out_ a mess like this?”

                It broke his heart to ask this of her under false pretence, but it had to be done: “Trust me.”

                And she did, which both humbled and haunted him. Her kiss spoke of a belief in him that needed no words. He encouraged her to settle against him, reassuring her that he’d find a way. Eventually she grew calm enough to read to him some more. What she recited, he couldn’t have said. He was too busy listening to the delicate timbre of her voice, watching the way she followed the words with a swift finger. Each time she turned a page she’d lick her thumb before doing so; the paper scraped softly with the movement. He was lulled into the calm before the storm, falling limp against an oncoming hit so as to reduce damage. When she was tired of reading they spoke in whispered tones of random subjects: the trivial details of their lives, if Dwarves really _had_ invented poker, what Lina might be up to. Small things, conversation that put Sarah to sleep a short while later, content with the knowledge that she didn’t have to fix everything on her own.

                Jareth lay there enjoying the quiet sighs of her breathing, soaking in the warmth of her pressed against him. He took his time trailing a barely-there hand over her arm, her shoulder, collarbone, along her neck, into her hair. She was the most beautiful soul he’d ever had the misfortune to love. “The next life,” he whispered, a promise and a plea.

                Pressing a kiss into her hair, Jareth closed his eyes and whispered the damning words.

 

 


	11. Chaos in Sacrifice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hi all! Once again I apologise for the time it takes me to update, I think that an average of two weeks between new chapters is what you should expect from me from now on. My last week has been even more hectic than ever, and full of mixed emotions: on Saturday my grandmother passed away unexpectedly, and two hours later my second nephew was born. Crazy old life, isn’t it? So I’ve been a little caught up. But to business: you are about to go throw a bit of emotional turmoil, as ever. There’s a bit of blood and swearing, but nothing graphic. Just a warning. Hope you enjoy. Thank you all again for the incredible, kind, supportive comments that I received for this story that give me the biggest fuzzy feels whenever I read them!

**Chaos in Sacrifice**

 

She’d always liked the gardens in the Palace. They comforted her in a way nothing else could. The spiralling vines and blooming buds served as a reminder of her purpose in life: to maintain order. For without order there was chaos. And in chaos her people faced death. And without Fae…there would be no one to Harvest the Dreams. Her reality would cease to exist. Mira often sought the company of the gardens when this pressure was irking her. After speaking with Jareth she was anxious, afraid of the devotion in her son’s eyes. How could she have let this awful play go on for as long as it had? She should have forced abdication on him long ago rather than try to save her reputation the long way around. With an angry frown Mira crushed a violet in her palm and let it fall to the grass beneath her feet. Her son was perilously close to causing a revolution in his Kingdom that would endanger their entire reality, all for a girl.

Though admittedly in the Domain’s history, wars had started over things as foolish as love. Her own mother was a prime example: bearing a child out of wedlock during a time of great civil dysfunction. The birth of the child had started a war between two nations that had lasted two hundred years. Mira had been there, had watched her new half-sister be killed for the sake of preserving the family line. It was then, at just twenty years old, that she’d vowed never to let emotion affect her purpose in life. She’d been quick enough to dissuade Lina from such mistakes, but Jareth…if she’d known her children would cause such turmoil she’d never have had them. Better to choose a successor from outside than risk destruction at the hands of her own flesh and blood.

Her skin began to crawl with the sensation of a promise being upheld. She didn’t need to inspect her vow mark to know it would be glowing. The Williams girl had done well, but Mira knew that it was Jareth who had taken the final plunge unasked. She’d known from the look on his face that he would die for that human…and he would have to, now, to restore order. Closing her eyes, Mira leant back against the wall and inhaled the heady scent of the flowers around her. _It will all be over soon_ , she thought tiredly. She stroked the mark on her wrist and waited to hear Jareth’s confession. As soon as it was spoken he would be drawn to her and they could begin the process. What she heard was not quite what she expected. It was poetic and wordy, not the simple proclamation she’d been waiting for. Yet it rang true, proof as real as there had ever been, the sound of Jareth’s voice pure and honest. It was heartfelt, and sweet, but it would condemn him nonetheless.

 

* * *

 

 

The dream was at once familiar yet different.

                This time she watched _herself_ huddling in the cage as Jareth stood on the outside impassively.

                “Please,” whispered the caged Sarah from the floor.

“Please what?” asked Jareth with little emotion.

                “Don’t let me out. Don’t release me.”

                “I can’t leave you in there.”

                “But you know what I’ve done to you.”

                “I wanted it to happen.”

                She watched as Jareth knelt before the cage and pressed his cheek against the bars. His voice had cracked with pain. Sarah longed to intervene, knowing how it would end, but something was keeping her still and silent against her will.

                “Did you?” snapped the Sarah in the cage. “Did you _want_ it to happen like this?”

                “Never.” He slipped a hand between the bars and reached out for her. “Let me help you.”

                “No!” Her voice was ragged with torment. “I know what you’ll do if you help me!”

                Sarah was helpless as she watched Jareth straining to grasp hold of the Sarah in the cage, who backed away further into the corner. 

                “I _will_ help you!” Jareth roared. Taking back his hand he withdrew a knife from his coat and without hesitation slit his own throat. Blood spurted, both Sarahs screamed –           

The hand she threw out into the dark upon waking found nothing. For a heartbeat she felt dizzying relief, terrified she might have clutched Jareth’s dead body. Then the room lit up, as the castle did when she needed it to, and she shivered at the sight of his empty pillow. The sheets on his side were cold under inspection, meaning he hadn’t just left to use the bathroom. Trying to remember how to breathe, Sarah sat up and looked around at the room she now felt horrifically alone in. Jareth was gone. _Gone_. She spied something on the nightstand, a folded piece of paper. Flooded with trepidation, Sarah licked her dry lips and collected the note.

It was parchment, smooth and cool to the touch. The handwriting was his, from the looping curve of the vowels to the flourished tick over the ‘I’s.

_I know why you are suffering with indecision, pet. For once I am happy to take the choice away from you. Because you weren’t awake to hear, these are the things you couldn’t let me say:_

_“Then seek not, sweet, the ‘if’ and ‘why’, I love you now until I die. For I must love because I live and life in me is what you give.”_

The poem was unfamiliar but it was all so typical of Jareth that she burst violently into tears. They were searing tears of anger and frustration, spilling onto the paper and blurring the words. Sarah crumpled the paper and pressed it against her heart.

                “This isn’t what I meant you idiot!” she cried in dismay. “I never wanted _this_!”

                She sat for a moment, lost and drowning in loss, feeling a hundred different things. “You stupid, beautiful, selfless fucking idiot…” she sniffed, drying her eyes. What happened now? She hadn’t even thought about it. Was Jareth in a cell somewhere, awaiting trial? Was he already being sentenced? What was she supposed to do? Sarah had never been the kind of woman to feel _lesser_ without a man. The sensation she felt now was certainly nothing to do with needing validation. It took nothing away from her own sense of self. What she felt was loss, plain and simple. The notion of Jareth’s permanent absence stirred such a panic in her heart that she couldn’t think straight. He’d been here and now he wasn’t – just as if he’d died. Well, she was sick of death and a little sick of life too.

                Someone knocked on the door.

                At first she ignored it. There weren’t many guesses as to who it could be, with the goblins her only visitors. None of whom knew what she’d done and to whom she didn’t feel like explaining.

                “Miss Williams? May I enter?”

                That was _not_ one of the voices she’d expected. It was polite and clear, polished and meek but she knew it all the same. “Wick?” she called, mouth dry.

                There was a muffled shuffling on the other side of the door. “We ain’t got time for manners! Sarah, we’re comin’ in! It’s important!” shouted the gruff voice of Hoggle.

                Sarah looked down at her naked self and jumped into action. “Just wait a second!” She cast around wildly for her scattered clothes and pulled them on, momentarily stilled by the unfamiliar weight of Jareth’s pendant against her chest. Tucking it gently beneath her shirt she berated herself for not realising why he’d given it to her. But with little time for further self-directed anger Sarah raced to the door. Wrenching it open, the faces she met were all expected save for one. Hoggle, Ludo and Didymus all moved aside to make room for the Elf to step forward. Her breath caught in her throat. “What did they do to you?” she whispered.

                Wick’s eyes were purpled and ringed by shadows. His feint smile betrayed a split lip. Something thick and blue had dripped from his nose and been smeared roughly away. There was no spirit in his dim eyes, no familiar smirk on that gaunt face. But the worst thing was how he looked at her: totally oblivious, completely unaware that anything was wrong.

                “I’ve been sent to take you home now, Miss,” he said in a voice utterly distanced from its beaten body.

                “He ain’t no good like this, is he?” said Hoggle, jerking a finger at the Elf. “Found him wanderin’ outside your rooms callin’ for you. He won’t turn back into the other fella. The sharp one.”

                “He can’t,” Sarah murmured, horrified, unable to take her eyes off Wick. “He’s been Severed, Hoggle. Because of me.”

                The word made her friends all shudder silently. “Oh, your poor fellow,” Didymus bemoaned. “Such a cruel fate for such a good soul.”

                “Ludo sad,” said the big goblin, patting Wick on the shoulder with such a heavy hand that the Elf buckled at the knees.

                “I assure you I’m in peak serving condition, Miss,” he told her hurriedly. “No need to worry. I’ll soon have you home without a fuss.”

                “We aren’t _going_ home Wick,” Sarah replied firmly. “You’re not taking me anywhere. I’m going to see Jareth.”

                “But I’ve been given clear directions by the Queen!” Wick replied, clearly affronted. “I must take you Above right away.”

                “He’s been babblin’ on about this since we found him,” Hoggle grumped. “What in the Fate’s design is goin’ on, Sarah? How comes the Queen knows you’re here?”

                “In a minute,” she dismissed him, ushering them into Jareth’s bedroom. “First I need to figure out how to get to wherever Jareth is.” Wick opened his mouth to speak but she hushed him. “You’re not helping me; I’ve gotten you into enough trouble as it is.”

                “I daresay his Majesty will be in the Palace dungeons, considering his recent arrest,” said Didymus soberly.

                Ignoring Wick’s attempts at protest, Sarah shot a look at the goblin. “How do you know that already?”

                “All us goblins know when big things are goin’ on with the King,” Hoggle answered. “We’re all linked to him. But they ain’t yet told us what he’s been arrested _for_.”

                “For being in love with me,” Sarah answered bitterly. “I was threatened by the Queen into getting under Jareth’s skin so he would admit it. But I changed my mind. I told him not to say it.” The thought of him sitting in a cell somewhere, his regal self completely out of place in a musty cage, made her ache. “And he went and did it anyway. I’ve ruined so many people’s lives, Hoggle.” Tears threatened to overwhelm her again but she fought them. “I have to see him.”

                “What would you have us do, fair Lady?” Didymus asked. “Storm the Palace? Break free the King and see you safely on your way together?”

                There was such genuine eagerness in his voice that Sarah almost laughed at the irony. That was exactly what she felt like doing. But what chance was there of _that_ ending well?

                “Don’t be stupid!” Hoggle snapped. “We ain’t takin’ you anywhere near that place. You’ll be killed just as fast as you can say oubliette.”

                Ludo’s beady eyes widened and he rested a pleading hand on Sarah’s arm with a frightened groan.

                “Besides all that, I’ve been told to take you _home_ ,” Wick added. “Which I must do now or the Queen will be very displeased.”

                “Will she hurt you again?” Sarah asked quietly, turning her attention back to the Elf. “You’ve been punished for helping me before, do you remember? She Severed you.”

                “I’ve no recollection of the event,” Wick replied blankly. “All I know is that I must see to my duties.”

                “Not for long,” she told him. “I’ll get her to reverse it. I don’t know how, but I will. I _promise_ , Wick.”

                The Elf just stared at her blankly and tapped a foot. “I’m perfectly fine, Miss. Now will you let me take you home?”

                Rolling her eyes, Sarah ignored him and looked to the goblins. “How am I going to get to the dungeons in the Palace?”

                “You _ain’t_ , I said!” Hoggle snapped. “The trial of a Goblin King ain’t no event for a human to get mixed up in.”

                Ludo’s urgent hand on her arm indicated he was of a similar opinion, so Sarah flicked her gaze to Didymus. “How about you Sir Didymus? How can I get –”

                “I suggest we lay siege –!”

                “ _Without_ laying siege, or storming in, or making any loud obnoxious entrance that would draw attention to us?” she interrupted with surprising patience. So far he was the only one willing to help and it wouldn’t do any good to shout at him.

                The little goblin twitched his moustache and blinked, thrown off his train of thought. “Oh, well, erm…” he scratched at his ear in contemplation. “I suppose, if the more obvious methods aren’t to your liking…we could attempt a subtle entrance via the West Forest.”

                Ludo threw his head back and groaned in dismay, covering his little eyes with those giant clawed hands.

Hoggle’s eyes were fit to pop right out of his head. “The _West Forest_!” he spluttered. “Oh why don’t yer just skin us alive now and save them creatures the trouble!”

                “What’s the West Forest?” Sarah asked. “If it’s a way to the Palace, I’ll take it.”

                “What little Mr Bog-for-Brains there is suggestin’,” Hoggle cried, “Is a suicide mission. Gettin’ to the West Forest means crossin’ through the Goblin City!”

                As quickly as the flicker of hope came it was snuffed out. “Through the City?” Sarah said warily. “That’s the only way?”

                “Not necessarily, my Lady,” Didymus piped up. “We could do as you attempted to do a few months ago and simply scale the Walls. I would of course cut a path through those devilish monsters for you in a heartbeat – but as you desire a less conspicuous approach…”

                “So we’d run around the edge of the City and then through this forest and we’d be there?” Sarah could hardly breathe, she was brimming with equal parts hope and absolute terror.

                “You say it like you weren’t almost ripped apart the last time you tried it,” Hoggle growled, pacing the floor. “Why do you reckon this time would be different?”

                “What other choice have I got?” Sarah snapped. “I won’t let Wick take me and I can’t just ask the Queen to escort me to her son, can I?”

                “Sawah,” Ludo rumbled. “City dangerous.”

                “I know that big boy,” she said softly with a pat to his arm. “But I have to see him. I have to make things right somehow. This is all my fault.”

                “What will you do, Miss?” Wick said quietly. “How do you plan on negating the trial of a King?”

                “I have no idea,” she replied determinedly. “But I’m not going home.”

                “Sarah, you’ll die,” Hoggle said pleadingly.

                “Yeah I might,” she answered. “But that’s the way it is.”

                Her candour seemed to stun them all into thoughtful silence.

                “Well then, I suppose I’ll have to come with you,” Wick murmured, resigned but petrified.

                “What? No, none of you are coming with me,” Sarah said. “There’s no way I’m letting you get ripped apart by goblins.”

                “If I go back to the Queen without completing my task, I may as well hand myself to them,” Wick said. “I have been forbidden from serving any others, so I couldn’t take you to the Palace if I wanted to. But I have no desire to fail the Queen.”

                “And you can think again if you reckon we’re lettin’ you do this alone,” Hoggle grumbled. “Coward or not, I ain’t seein’ you turned into goblin fodder.”

                “But –”

                “There’s no point in arguing!” cried Didymus. “I’m afraid you’ve found yourself a band of fighters, sweet maiden, and we will not rest until we have helped you in your quest!”

                “Foolish as it is,” mumbled the Dwarf-goblin.

                “He’s my soul mate, Hoggle,” Sarah said plainly. It was overwhelming, the reality of what she would do for Jareth and what her friends would do for her. This secret world of hers was a strange mix of cruelty and kindness. “I can’t let him suffer for me and I can’t let his sister be put on that throne after all the years he’s fought to keep her away.”

                “I ain’t sayin’ I won’t do it,” the Dwarf-goblin replied indignantly. “Just lettin’ you know that I ain’t happy about it!”

                “Then it’s settled,” she said firmly, wondering if they could hear the quiver in her voice or the desperate pounding of her heart. “Let’s go.”

                “You won’t get far in a Fae Palace looking like a human,” Wick told her, helping reluctantly. “You’ll need some sort of disguise.”

                Sarah caught her reflection in the mirror and studied herself. There was no one here to transform her into Ilyena…but that wasn’t to say they couldn’t get creative. As long as it was done quickly. Hurrying to the desk by the window, Sarah snatched up the ink pot and quill. She held them aloft for her companions to eye questioningly.

                “Who’s got steady hands?”

 

* * *

 

 

Jareth was reminiscing. There was little else to do when you were waiting to die. Thrust unceremoniously into a cell that blocked his powers, how else was he meant to pass the time? Mira hadn’t given him much time to ruminate once he’d spoken the words. His confession had drawn him to her throne like poison from a wound, ripping him away from Sarah’s warm embrace. Kneeling at his mother’s feet he’d said nothing, agreeing silently to the terms of his arrest as she read them out. _You are to be held without reprieve until your trial. You will surrender the use of magic once entering your cell. You will ready no defence and meet with nobody. When the Council has assembled we will call on you for the trial, the details of which will be broadcast to the hordes. You will accept your sentence with dignity and allow it to pass without interruption. So it has been since the Birth of All Things, so shall it be until the Last Days. These are the terms of your arrest, Jareth El’Maven._

He hoped he was human in his next life. Or a Dwarf. Surely they had a much nicer time of it than a Fae. Bored of the sight of his chilly grey cell Jareth closed his eyes. His back was stiff and cold against the bare wall; he stretched and tried to settle comfortably into the stone with little luck. Frowning, he leant his head back and concentrated on measured breathing. In: _he and Lina were children, splashing through a stream chasing tiny red fish._ Out: _Lina’s hair has faded; it was so vibrant before she entered the Dust Bowl._ In: _she was twenty and trying to tell him of the boy she’d kissed; he couldn’t understand her desire to do such a thing._ Out: _I wonder if she still misses Kiff after all this time._ In: _she was mad at him for studying so much; he didn’t spend as much time with her as he once did._ Out: _I regret every paper I ever read instead of watching you kick up dust._

                It was calming for a time, thinking of his life and his sister and the good things he’d done. Despite the nasty mess of the last two centuries he’d had quite a pleasant first one hundred years. There were many sweet memories to lull him into a state of relaxation. Or as close to relaxed as one could get, awaiting execution. Whenever his nerves threatened to begin their fraying Jareth would think hard of Sarah and remind himself he was doing it for her. Vaguely his words from long ago came to mind:

_“…and I have done it all for **you**. I’m exhausted from living up to your expectations of me.”_

Maybe he _was_ exhausted, but only by the Fae Domain and its sickly trappings. Never by Sarah. He moved the stars for Sarah.

                “Perhaps I’ll become a star,” he mused quietly. Glittering in the total peace of silent space above a beautifully human world, with Sarah gazing up at him each night…it wouldn’t be a badsort of existence. The stone was grating against his spine once more. With a grunt Jareth shifted position, drawn out of his reverie by discomfort. Couldn’t they have provided a nicer cell for a King? He almost wished they would just get it over with but no, like anything to do with his accursed people, they took their time when it came to matters of politics. There was no such thing as a quick fix, even for a matter as dire as this. He wondered who would be appointed his replacement. With a bitter smirk he thought of the old bat Ezra and her equally unlikable descendants. Surely there was a stiff face in that nasty gene pool that would do well for a Goblin King or Queen. In the end, it would make no difference to him. The dead tended not to be bothered by matters of the living.

 

* * *

 

 

It was easy to convince herself this was the best plan: all she wanted to do was get to Jareth and no Goblin City was going to stop her. It was a little more difficult getting her body to respond as eagerly. Sarah’s knees knocked together with nerves, her fingers curling and uncurling into fists. Her sweaty palms made it tricky to get a steady grip on the stone as Ludo hoisted her up the City Wall. _It won’t be like the first time_ , she told herself firmly. _You look like a Fae now._ Well, as Fae as they could manage under pressure: Wick had painted markings around her eyes with the ink and she’d found a simple black dress in her closet. It wasn’t practical for their endeavour but it would help to blend in later on. _And you have the others. Just move quickly and quietly._ Still, she couldn’t help tensing up as she scrambled onto the ledge of the Wall. The City wasn’t quite as menacing in the light of day, thankfully. The streets were apparently empty, with no sign of a goblin anywhere. Hoggle had mentioned this possibility, that the creatures might be gathered in the City heart listening to hear what happened to the King. The stronger the messages about him, the more they tended to move together like a pack. Her goblin friends were only able to distance themselves from the broadcasts because they weren’t pure bred and had a stronger sense of self-awareness.

It was information that boded well for them, as Sarah could stay updated on what might be happening to Jareth and the hordes might be too preoccupied to bother them. Though looking around Sarah did notice the buildings were looking shabbier and vandalised, with non-descript splatters of something dark here and there. Memories of claws like scythes and shark-like teeth flittered through the back of her mind, accompanied by the echoes of evil chittering and screeching. Jareth wasn’t here to save her this time should anything go wrong. With a shiver Sarah forced herself to concentrate on her friends.

                “All clear,” she murmured, scanning the shadows for any signs of life. Maybe her friends were right and there would be little interference from the creatures.

                “Like that’s goin’ to last,” Hoggle grumbled behind her, landing on the ledge with a thump as Ludo half-tossed his light weight up the Wall. “Soon as they smell us they’ll come runnin’ like rats.”

                “I dare them to try poking their whiskers too close!” Didymus declared as he landed beside Sarah with a light scuffling sound. “We’ll give them a thorough going over –”

                Sarah hushed him desperately. Hoggle actually gave the little goblin a hard thwack on the arm until he fell quiet. Wick was the next to join them, looking as miserable as Hoggle was angry. She’d given him plenty of chances to back out but the damn Elf was too stuck in that irritating servant role and wouldn’t give up. The need to see Sarah home was the only thing pushing him onwards. Finally, Ludo joined them, struggling with his great bulk momentarily. For a horrid moment she thought he would topple right over into the City, his balance thrown off by that awkward goblin body. Hoggle and Wick both snatched his arm and tugged until he stood upright. With a relieved sigh, Sarah turned her eyes back to the City for a final scan. Still there was nothing.

                “All right,” she said quietly, leading the group. “Stay silent and move fast.”

                Hoggle followed in grumpy silence with Didymus close at his heels, who quivered with anticipation. Wick’s nimble booted feet made easy work of the stone ledge, a big contrast to Ludo’s lumbering attempts at balancing. Every few steps Sarah would toss a glance backwards to make sure he wasn’t in danger of falling. Not that they could do much to catch him if that happened. Eventually she was concentrating too hard on the crumbling sections of stone to pay attention to anyone else. She sought out each step with careful urgency, forcing calmness on herself. She breathed evenly, kept her eyes wide and ears keen for noise, arms outstretched for balance. And always there was the fervent murmur of Jareth’s name in her heart, thrumming like a songbird. _I’m coming_ , she thought, hoping they could beat Wick’s estimated three hours to get to the Palace. Anything could happen in three hours, to them _and_ Jareth. Her feet ached not to start to running then and there but that would surely lead to falling and drawing attention to them all. _Breathe_ , she thought. _Just breathe._

                They made good progress, judging by the landscape that changed around them. The Castle appeared further and further away, which caused an odd pang of longing within Sarah as she wondered if she’d ever return to it. On one side of them was the City floor, hard-packed earth and broken paving stones with a hodgepodge of shacks and stone towers. They knew the place went on for miles and there was no chance of spying the centre from the Wall. Yet still each one of them, save for perhaps Didymus, eyed the distant buildings warily as if expecting a horde to rush at them any minute. On the other side of them was the Labyrinth, deep and cavernous and seemingly alive with menace. Falling on either side would lead to serious problems. In the distance, strewn with shadows from clouds, stretched a land free of both Labyrinth and Goblin City. Sarah had never explored the hillside before, except for that brief hilltop rendezvous with Jareth when she was fifteen. She marvelled at how the land could go from arid, filthy City ground to the luscious forests she could make out in the distance. This was the West Forest they were aiming for.

                As the time passed, the group’s silence seemed to thicken. Concentration was apparent among all of them as parts of the Wall crumbled underfoot and they moved further away from the relative safety of the Castle grounds. Sarah could hear the steps of every goblin and Elf behind her: the light movements of Didymus and Wick, the shuffling of Hoggle, the scraping great steps of Ludo. And her own feet, steady and sure beneath her, seeking purchase. These were the only noises surrounding them.

                Until she heard a growl from below.

                Freezing, throwing her arms out for the others to stop, Sarah prayed they would do so silently. Heart in her throat she glanced down and saw a goblin almost as big as Ludo fast asleep on a slab of stone. It was growling as if dreaming, long thick tail lashing and teeth grinding. She couldn’t make out the details well from above but it seemed to have a lot of teeth and some fairly wicked claws. Not something she wanted to wake up. Holding her breath, she gave a look to the others that clearly begged them to be careful and took a few steps forward. They followed just as she went, mouths clamped shut with wary glances below every so often. When they’d made it over the goblin and seemed to be in the clear, Sarah allowed herself to exhale. But she didn’t dare stop, arms out wide as she sought quick steps along the stone. The scrape of the creature’s twitching tail on the pavers echoed in the quiet that surrounded them. Sarah swore she could hear it growling even after they’d been walking for another fifteen minutes. Wick and Ludo were on duty, throwing glances behind them regularly just in case.

                “Just our luck to be mauled by the one lazy so-an-so to sleep through the broadcast,” Hoggle grumbled after a while, though still with a hint of anxiety.

                “I just hope there aren’t any more,” Sarah replied quietly. She wasn’t confident they could avoid conflict if it happened again; they seemed to be reaching an area where the goblins had tried repeatedly to escape the City. The further along they journeyed, the more she noticed the Wall had been repaired in places and built higher. They had to climb a few awkward stone bricks every so often before resuming their normal pace on the relatively flat surface. And the buildings were looking worse than ever, doors ripped off in frustration and evidence of fights: more sinister splattering and chunks of very dead somethings. Each little detail fed the seeds of Sarah’s urgency. Jareth had a lot to account for; she was starting to dread what his punishment might be.

Not for the first time, she thought of how she might just smack him on sight for giving in to his horrid mother. To leave her that note was romantic, but she would have preferred it if he’d spoken with her. What they might’ve done instead, she had no idea. Maybe they could have run away. Maybe they still would. Sarah really had no idea what she was doing. It was this panic that made her lose focus on the task at hand. Her mind wandered in fits and starts, whirling with ridiculous notions about how this all might end. It distracted her from those careful steps that had so far kept her balanced and safe. And it was why she tripped on a broken stone and tumbled screaming into the Labyrinth.

 

* * *

 

 

Jareth had sat through many a Council meeting in his time. They were dry affairs, heavy with tedious conversations about upholding tradition. Much as he loathed them, he’d forced himself to pay studious attention. If not because he cared, then because doing a good job meant he wouldn’t lose the throne to Lina. Now with no threat of that happening, he found it difficult to focus no matter how hard they prodded at the details of his life. It was hard to care when he’d already conceded defeat. _Just get on with it_ , he thought with a subtle roll of his eyes, almost wishing to be back in that boring cell. But the Council members were intent as ever on drawing out their discussions for as long as possible. There wasn’t much to distract him in the chambers, unfortunately: the room was kept plain to match its droll purpose.

The Council sat in a row before Jareth on the marbled floor, festooned in robes of sullen colours with sour faces. He met their tense propriety with indolence, lazily pacing the floor and refusing to sit. There was nothing to look at but the Queen’s insignia engraved into the wall behind them. Council chambers were always arranged this way to reduce distraction. He’d been entertaining himself mostly by answering their questions with vague, bored remarks. It was clearly irking the Elders, though his mother seemed determined to keep a neutral face.

                “…admit you were abandoning your post to do this?”

                The empty voice belonged to Ezra. He shook his head and turned to face her. “Sorry my Lady, what did you say?” he asked mildly.

                “I suggest you take this more seriously,” the Elder hissed.

                “Why? Have we not all agreed on my crime and punishment already?” Jareth replied facetiously. “Why bore ourselves with the details when we can skip ahead to the part we’re all looking forward to?”

                “You think we are _enjoying_ this parading of your betrayal?” asked Romina, a woman not quite Mira’s age but as immovable as any Elder.

                “Of course,” Jareth replied with a wave of his hand. “Mother has always liked pointing out my faults. Haven’t you, mother of mine?”

                Mira sat in the middle of the row, hands folded stiffly in her lap. Her frosty expression followed her son’s aimless wandering form. “Repeat your question,” she said to Ezra without taking her gaze from Jareth.

                The Elder cleared her throat. “Reports claim that you frequently visited Above in order to watch the development of the human Sarah Williams throughout her life. Do you admit you were abandoning your post to do this?”

                “I do,” he answered. “And I don’t regret a moment of it.”

                “And when the time came, years later, for you to discuss the fate of Tobias and Alice Williams with their sister, do you admit to ignoring custom as a favour to her?”

                “It wasn’t a favour,” he corrected them with an impatient sigh. “Sarah and I had a deal.”

                “A deal which is not _customary_ to make,” Romina pointed out. “What were the details of such a trade?”

                “I spared her brother from running the Labyrinth in exchange for Sarah’s promise to return to the Underground with me.” Now they were getting to the parts he didn’t have to force interest in. Revealing anything about Sarah to the Council put him on edge; it worried him what they might do with the information.

                “And in doing so you knowingly disrespected the hordes by denying them their rightful access to prize flesh,” said Ezra coldly. “Not the first time you have intervened in goblin practices, as we all know.”

                “And not the last, certainly,” Jareth commented with another roll of his eyes. “As I’m sure you intend on pointing out. Go on, then.”

                “You have allowed your relationship with the hordes to decay over the last two years,” Ezra continued. “You have interfered in Labyrinth runs; set rules you had no right to enforce upon the goblins; rescued Sarah Williams from the death she deserved in her foolishness. You –”

                “She didn’t deserve to die,” Jareth interrupted through gritted teeth. “Few humans deserve the deaths they have suffered in my Kingdom.” He scanned their unkind faces. “Not one of you understands that, do you?”

                “We understand the need to placate the hordes,” his mother snapped. “We understand self-discipline, and upholding tradition for the sake of safety, and we understand the _disgraceful_ way you have allowed your Kingdom to fall into total chaos for the sake of a silly little human girl.” By the time Mira finished she was a mirror image of her son: stiff-backed and fists clenched, eyes blazing with fire, mouth in a flat angry line. The two Fae glared at each other with such disdain they forgot the Council around them.

                “You will never see it another way, never,” Jareth growled. “So ask me the final question, _Mira_ , and we can conclude this.”

                Her voice was empty as a void, ready to be filled with tones of victory. “Do you admit to loving the human Sarah Williams and failing as Goblin King because of this?”

                He refused to let the heartlessness of the question strip the magic from its core. Inside those inane words was a true story that he’d lived through.

“Yes, I love her,” he said softly. “And as I said, I don’t regret a moment of it.”

 

* * *

 

 

She was hanging over a pit of jagged rocks.

It certainly hadn’t been there before she fell, but Sarah had always suspected the Labyrinth of being half-alive, subjectable to change. Now was hardly the time for thoughts of possible pseudo-sentience, however. Hoggle had thrown himself at her feet the moment she screamed; those gnarled hands were the only things keeping her from falling to her death. She hung upside down with her dress and hair falling down over her face. The others were crowding around Hoggle attempting to help. Her head ached; she’d thumped it in the fall as the Dwarf-goblin had caught her. And the sight of glistening rocks sharp as knives directly below wasn’t helping matters. Above, her companions shouted in varying degrees of panic.                        

“I _knew_ I should have just taken you straight home!”

“I’ll fetch her, do not fear!”

                “What good are _you_ goin’ to be you bite-sized lump? Hurry _up_ you big lout,” Hoggle cried. “I can’t hold on forever!”

                “Ludo help!” said the big goblin in an urgent voice.

                Without being able to see, Sarah guessed he was trying to work his great bulk around the others to reach her. She tried to keep quiet and still so Hoggle wouldn’t drop her. It helped that the sheer panic racing through her system had stunned her into silence.

                “Sawah,” Ludo called. She felt strong hands grabbing at her ankles. “Make Sawah safe.”

                “Yes please Ludo,” she answered quietly. “Please get me out of here.”

                There was a low grunt and a painfully tight grip on her calves. The world pitched and shifted and righted itself with a dizzying swing as Ludo hauled her up into his arms. For a moment Sarah couldn’t move, numb with relief at being right side up and _not_ hanging above certain death. “Thank you big boy,” she murmured into Ludo’s scraggly fur. “Thank you.”

                “Uh, Sarah…”

                “We’re not going back just because I fell, Wick,” Sarah sighed as she was deposited carefully down on the ledge of the Wall.

                “If it ain’t goblins it’s the bloody _landscape_ tryin’ to kill us,” Hoggle grumbled. “You okay, Sarah?”

                “I’m fine,” she answered. “Just banged my head a bit.” Her temples were thumping sharply; she pressed a hand against the side of her face. “Let’s get back to it then.”

                “S-Sarah…”

                “Honestly, I’m fine!” she said firmly, irritated as the Elf reached over to tug at her hand.

But he shook his head and pointed toward the City. Exasperated, she followed his gaze. And understood why words were failing him.

                The sound of her fall had attracted attention.

                Scurrying towards them in a fluid rhythm were a dozen goblins, beady eyes trained on the group. They moved together with sinister intent, tails swishing and claws scraping along the pavers. Sarah could just make out the sleeping one from earlier. Choice curses poured from Hoggle’s mouth; Wick looked as if he were about to faint. Didymus was already shouting at them and raising his tiny claws ready to fight. Ludo tried to move protectively in front of Sarah but she stopped him.

                “They might listen to me if they think I’m a Fae,” she said doubtfully. “Maybe I can get them to back off.”

                “Sarah, those fellas ain’t goin’ to listen to _Jareth_ right now, let alone you!” Hoggle cried. “We needs to get runnin’ _now_.” He began taking steps along the Wall but Sarah refused to move.

She faced the advancing pack, which was now closing in with alarming speed. They were only a few seconds away. Drawing herself up, straight-backed and glaring, Sarah held up a hand as if she could halt their steps with magic.

                “ _Stop!_ ” she commanded loudly, voice echoing over the calamity of shuffling bodies and increasingly urgent chittering. “I represent the Goblin King and I order you to stop!”

                They did no such thing. They were almost at the base of the Wall now. Her companions were making a cacophony of sound: worried cries, gleeful jests, rumbling groans. She stood her ground, one hand flying unbidden to her chest in fear. Something hard brushed against her fingers and a desperate idea seized her. Tugging out Jareth’s pendant from beneath her shirt, Sarah held it up with what she hoped was a superior expression.

                “I have been given the seal of the El’Maven family and I demand you stop right now!” she yelled in a booming voice.

                This time they did stop. Foul toothy faces turned as one to stare at the pendant. Paws and claws twitched; they made sounds like swords clashing. Unable to breathe or believe her luck, Sarah gave the pendant a pointed shake and returned the cold glare of the goblins below. They gazed at the necklace, heads tilted, contemplating. Had she managed to save them?

                There was no time to feel triumphant in the split second before they burst forth screeching. The creatures howled and raged, surging towards the Wall at full speed. Between their screaming and her own, Sarah caught snatches of words she’d rather have gone without hearing:

                “ _No King of ours, no King of ours, blood we want to rip to tear you to thrash and strip –”_

                The goblins threw their whole weight into the stone, scrabbling for a way up.

                “Run!” Sarah shouted needlessly at the others. “And someone grab Didymus!”

                The little goblin was peering down at the attackers with a determined gleam in his beady eyes. His protests at being snatched up by Ludo were overwhelmed by the noise below. There was no room for thought, only the instinct to run. The group hurtled along the Wall at a dangerous speed, flying away from the barrage of teeth. Sarah had no idea how they managed to get as far as they did before the inevitable cry came from behind. Heart sinking before she even turned around, Sarah knew someone had fallen. A quick look revealed a dismal sight: Hoggle hung from Wick’s legs, who was clinging to the ledge desperately trying to haul them both back up. The Dwarf-goblin was kicking viciously at the creatures below as they leapt and tried to snatch at his feet. Sarah ran to help just as Ludo dropped a frantic Didymus; he took a swing at a goblin who was dangerously close to the ledge. Hoggle swore, Didymus threw himself into the fray and Wick reached out a shaking hand to grab Sarah’s ankle.

She wasn’t sure what happened then. One second they were all tumbling over the ledge about to be ripped to pieces – and the next, they were in a heap on chilly marble flooring.

“What…?” she murmured, heart still pounding.

It took them a few seconds to disentangle themselves and come to grips with their whereabouts. They were in a narrow hallway, the walls of which were decorated in familiar vines and flora. The faint heady scent of pollen and perfume made her nose itch.

“Is everyone okay?” Sarah asked, rising shakily and dusting off her dress. The others answered in various tones of confusion that they were fine. Wick however was sitting against the wall staring at his palms with a frown. Kneeling beside him, Sarah took one of his hands and examined the grazed skin. It looked tender and ragged, fine pricks of blue blood rising to the surface. She had a feeling it wasn’t the injuries that worried him.

“It’s just a few scratches from holding onto the ledge,” he said without looking at her.

“Wick,” she murmured, gently sweeping her thumb over his wrist. “Did you do this? Did you take us away?”

A few sharp teeth flashed as he bit his lip gently in thought. “I think so,” he answered carefully. “It’s a defence mechanism. If an Elf is in enough danger, we can transport ourselves away. I’ve never done it before.” He let his hands fall into his lap. “I don’t think I could do it again unless there was another threat to my life.”

The goblins joined them by the wall, Hoggle patting the Elf on the shoulder. “You did more than just save your own skin,” he said in a gravelly impression of gratitude. “Thanks for takin’ us with yer, Wick.”

                “Indeed noble sir, we are indebted to you for your heroic act,” Didymus added.

                Ludo patted the Elf’s head and smiled kindly.

                Sarah was grinning, which made Wick frown deeper. “I don’t see what’s so wonderful about the situation that we can afford to be sitting here idly,” he announced, getting to his feet. “We’re in the Palace but that’s just as dangerous as the City we left behind, if I might point out.” He squirmed under Sarah’s continuous smiling gaze. “May I ask what you’re smiling about, Miss?”

                “I knew you were still in there somewhere,” she murmured, joining him in the middle of the hall. “My Wick wouldn’t have left if he couldn’t have saved us all.”

                “I apologise for the misunderstanding, Miss, but it was pure instinct. I was acting without conscious thought.”

                “Grateful as I am, can we gets on with it?” Hoggle interrupted, hopping anxiously from foot to foot. “He’s right about the Palace being just as bad as the City. Especially for us.”

                He was right. They didn’t have time to linger in hallways. “Now that you’re here, you might as well tell us where the dungeons are,” she said to Wick, who seemed to be gradually accepting that he wouldn’t complete his duty anytime soon. With a sigh the Elf nodded and started off down the hall in wary silence.

Sarah wasn’t too worried about being caught herself, or even Wick for that matter, but the goblins had no way to hide should someone appear. What alarm would the sight of them cause in the Royal Palace? Their very presence was a risk; she felt horribly exposed. Growing more uneasy with each step, it took Sarah a moment to notice that the goblins had stopped following them. When Wick pointed it out, she turned to find them staring at her with expressions that made her feel sick at heart. “What?”

                “My Lady…” Didymus whispered, ears pinned back and moustache drooping.

                Ludo whined pitifully. Hoggle wrung his hands together and dropped his gaze to the floor.

                “Hoggle,” Sarah said firmly. “What is it? Is it the broadcast?”

                “Yes, Sarah.”

                And then more silence. “Well, what _is_ it?” she demanded impatiently.

                “They seem to be in the process of appointing a new King, my Lady,” said Didymus forlornly.

                “And?”

                “And that means the old King has to pass over his power,” Hoggle said, eyes firmly glued to the floor. “By way of the new King killin’ him.”

                Everything spun. Her head was aching, heart thumping, stomach fluttering enough that she wanted to be sick. She wanted to protest, to disbelieve the words…but there was nothing about the Fae world that really surprised her anymore. Of course they would do it this way. And it helped her make sense of why Jareth had gone without talking to her. He must have known he would be going to his death. Sarah didn’t cry. She didn’t scream or rage or fall into a blind panic. She just smoothed her dress and tidied her hair, making sure she looked the part of those despicable Fae. There was nothing left to do but stop it, no matter how.

                “Where’s the trial being held?” she asked calmly.

                “In – in the Council court,” Wick answered. “But Sarah, we can’t –”

                “I think I’ve long since gone beyond the point of _‘can’t’_ in the Fae Domain, don’t you?” she interrupted mildly. “Take me there. Now.”

                Maybe it was the finality of her tone or the gleam in her eyes, but the Elf nodded meekly and led the way.

 

* * *

 

 

He was right, as it turned out. Brynn Fel Vaden, his chosen successor, was every inch the descendent of Ezra. They shared the same severity in features: pointed chin and high cheekbones, austere grey eyes beneath a sharp brow marked with crimson. He held himself with remarkable ease for a man about to execute his predecessor, standing before the Council with his arms behind his back. Shoulder-length ebony hair was tied back with a leather band, framing the impassive face that Jareth couldn’t help snatching glances at. It was just like looking at a male version of the Elder he despised so much. Yet despite Brynn’s apparent lack of emotion for the situation, there was a distinct air of naturalness about him that Jareth approved of. He himself had spent too many decades living a lie as Goblin King, ruling a realm he had no true passion for. If anyone was to take the helm of a sinking ship and guide it safely to land, Jareth suspected Brynn had the capability.

                The trial was almost over. They’d finished the private discussion in the Council chambers, having reached the inevitable conclusion after further pointless questioning. The process now, of being trialled and sentenced before a court of witnesses, was pure formality. Everything had already been decided. But what was a good execution without a few judgemental faces to watch? Jareth stood before a raised platform where the Council and the Queen sat looking down at him blankly. To the left was an array of audience members: Elders, Lords and Ladies, leaders from various surrounding communities. All stood in reticence, hands folded in front, gowns and cloaks flowing to the marble floor. He’d managed to ignore them completely for the duration of the proceedings, chin high in defiance of his mother’s shaming stare.

                Ezra’s booming voice echoed throughout the chamber, drawing all eyes to her with the power in that cold gaze.                “Jareth El’Maven, son of Queen Mira El’Maven of the Fae Domain, the unrefuted Goblin King for the last one hundred and twelve consecutive years…the Council has concluded its inquiries and we find you unfit for leadership. You have endangered our realm through lax performance of duty. You have been found guilty of breaking the most sacred crime of our world by confessing to the love of a human.” Her tone was unflinching as she proceeded to describe the ways in which his crime was unforgivable. Jareth wondered how she could ever have loved anyone enough to marry and have children…the existence of Brynn, her great grandson, seemed a mystery in the wake of that emotionless cadence. But then, he conceded, his own mother was proof enough that you didn’t need to know love to have a family.

                “…agree, my son?” Mira’s barking question roused him from thought.

                “I agree and acquiesce,” he answered without knowing or caring what he was saying yes to. It didn’t matter. Nothing did, except that he’d saved the two most important women in his life. He had yet to pay the price, but it was looming closer with every syllable that rolled from their tongues. Thoughts of Sarah were ever on his mind as he stood there, hands clasped behind his back, watching Brynn be sworn in to take over the Labyrinth Throne.

                “I give my support to this decision, as Queen of the Domain, and declare the sentencing of Jareth El’Maven to be justified.”

                Was Sarah still asleep, breathing deep with dreams and unaware that he was gone? Or had she woken to find herself alone?

                “Brynn Fel Vaden, the Council asks you to step forward and take the blade to take the life.”

                _Will she ever forgive me?_ He moved to kneel wordlessly in the circle before the Council, marked by black indentations in the marble. Brynn withdrew a silver dagger from its sheath, held up to him by a Councilwoman.

                _Thank you for taking me to Lina once more._ Jareth tilted his chin up and exposed his throat, hands clasped firmly behind his back. A serene acceptance enveloped him, almost euphoric in its finality. No longer would he bear burdens for the sake of others.

                “I, Brynn Fel Vaden, future Goblin King and Lord of the Labyrinth, ask for your life so that I may lead my Kingdom with respect and authority.” There was not an ounce of arrogance in that deep voice as he reached for a fistful of Jareth’s hair. Yes, the Fae would do well enough.              

                He opened his mouth to give agreement when a flicker of movement caught his attention. Someone had slipped into the room through the vine-covered doorway. At first he thought it a late spectator and dismissed them. _Let them see_ , he thought distantly. _What’s one more set of eyes to me?_ But the woman didn’t walk with the grace of a Fae. She took sure-footed steps towards them so silently that nobody else seemed to have noticed. Coal black hair fell across her heavily marked face; when she flicked her head and blew it out of the way Jareth knew. Those emerald eyes belonged to Sarah. _No_ , he pleaded silently. _Don’t._ Because there was no way his Sarah had come to simply watch him die. By the time she’d been noticed it was too late: she ran and crashed into Brynn with her full weight. Jareth’s head jerked back as the man’s grasp was ripped from his hair. The three of them were sent tumbling to the floor in disarray. The world was chaos: voices rang through the chambers in outrage, bolts of magic hit the marble around them as the Council tried to reign in the intruder.

                Jareth managed to grab hold of Sarah’s arm just as Brynn made a slash at her: she screamed, eyes dark with agony, mouth twisted in pain, and everything else fell away in silence.

                There was nothing in the world he wanted less than to look down, but he forced himself to. The tip of Brynn’s dagger was showing in her abdomen; it had gone right through her back. Blood streamed like red silk down Sarah’s dress. She fell heavily into his arms, coughing.

                “No,” he said hoarsely. “Sarah, what did you do?”

                “What did _you_ do?” she replied sharply as he sank to the floor with her. “Who – who told you – you could die for me?”

                “I had to,” he whispered fervently, cradling her. “It was never going to end any other way.”

                Sarah coughed again, wincing, leaning into his neck. “Bullshit,” she replied, gesturing weakly at her wound. “What about this? Didn’t – think of this, did you?”

                “Sarah, how is this any better?”

                “I didn’t have a plan,” she murmured. He wondered if she was even aware of the tears pouring down her cheeks. “But I couldn’t…”

                She was so pale already, white as ivory beneath those ink markings. He brushed the hair from her face, laying a palm against her clammy cheek, kissing her forehead.

                “Sarah, my Sarah,” he muttered, stroking her hair, filled with panic. “I can’t fix this, I can’t –”

                But there was a way. Something that hadn’t been done for centuries, an act so selfless it had been forgotten among his callous generation. Reaching behind Sarah, he gripped the handle of the dagger.

                “I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair. “I’m so sorry for this.”

                He pulled it out of her back. She screamed into his neck, clawing his skin in pain, shivering. Still murmuring fervent apologies, Jareth ignored the demanding questions of those closing in on them. He wrapped a hand around the blade and pulled, cutting deep into his palm. The searing burn of the cut was little disturbance compared to the tragic moan Sarah gave as he pressed his bleeding wound against hers. “Live my years,” he murmured against her ear as she cried and fell still. “Take them all, Sarah Williams.” Waves of exhaustion hit him like blows. Jareth cradled Sarah against his chest and let them both sink to the floor. There was no way of knowing what would happen to her now. But at least she was alive, he told himself, feeling sleep beckon like a lover.

                _At least she’s alive._

 


	12. Beyond

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Updates! And there’s more drama and worrying to be done! You’re welcome for that. Hold on to your hats people. And thankyou, as always, to everyone who reads and reviews and comments and shares the love for this movie and this silly little fangirl story. I adore you all. I have probably got another 2 or 3 chapters to go!

**Beyond**

 

_He was about to die on the other side of that doorway and she couldn’t stand it._

_“Fuck this,” Sarah growled, ignoring the hushed protests of the others. “Stay here.”_

_They did, out of some newfound respect for the command in her voice. Ludo whined softly, of course, and Hoggle cursed low while holding onto a quivering Didymus. But neither they nor Wick made any move to follow her. Long ago they’d told her to call should she need them and now was not one of those times. There was nothing a pack of tame goblins and a servant Elf could achieve in a room full of bitter powerful Fae and she wouldn’t drag them down with her._

_Stepping through the vines Sarah kept her gaze low and took discreet steps behind the backs of the onlookers. Blood pounded so aggressively in her ears that she was sure the sound would give her away. Jareth’s name being spoken by unkind voices drove her onwards with careful urgency. No use being noticed too soon, she told herself…until the metallic scrape of something made her look up. A man was gripping Jareth’s hair steadily with a silver dagger in his hand. Jareth himself was silent, reserved, oddly beatific in the sober lighting. He broke her heart._

_She ran._

_Noise exploded around her but there was no time to care. She flew across the space left between them, pulled along by love and fear and the painful need to protect Jareth from silver death. Sarah threw herself at the other Fae with all her strength, ripping him away from Jareth. He was heavier than she expected and stronger, crushing her into the marble so the air left her lungs in one breath. Dazed, panting, she kicked and pulled at the weight on top of her, fighting to wrestle the dagger from his grip. There was no time for conscious thought. **Save him save him save him** beat the mantra through her mind with every thud of her heart. They twisted together, the black haired Fae holding tight to the dagger as Sarah was rolled onto her stomach beneath him. She had one hand on his wrist, nails ripping into his skin, and the other pushing at his chest from behind. It was awkward and painful and she could hardly breathe. Someone took hold of her arm, tried to pull her away – _

_And then crimson pain slashed through her back and she was blind, blind with agony and screaming at the sinew and skin that split to make room for the blade._

_Tears sprang to her eye, but with relief rather than suffering. If the dagger was in **her** then it couldn’t touch Jareth. Her cheeks were wet, dress was wet, there was so much blood and so many tears – falling into his embrace was sheer bliss; it felt like years since they’d been asleep in each other’s arms._

_“No,” his hoarse voice lamented, rousing her from a coughing fit. “Sarah, what did you do?”_

_What did **she** do? Even in unbearable pain she found the strength to be irritated. She snapped at him. He’d been about to do the exact same thing for her! _

_“Sarah, how is this any better?”_

_What did he think of her face? Did she still look anything like herself? Or had she changed so much that a few lines of ink made no difference?_

_He was too quiet. She grew impossibly cold beneath that thoughtful gaze. It made her think of nightmares, of Jareth’s blood splattered over the ground while she sat safe in a cage._

_**I love you** , she thought idly, in a world just beyond speech. He fumbled behind her back but she paid little attention, captivated by his face – until fire erupted inside her with the tug of the dagger. There was no life and death, no up or down, no light no dark only **blinding** hot coals searing her from the inside out – she shivered uncontrollably and dug nails into his skin without seeing the half-moons left behind. _

_**I love you** , again, this time a plea for him to stop the pain, turning limp against him._

_“Live my years,” he said. “Take them all, Sarah Williams.”_

_A chill swept over her to rival the fever burning within._

 

* * *

 

 

The possibility of breaking a vow burned like a thousand fairy bites; she knew that _actually_ doing so would be most unpleasant.  

                “Your Majesty?” Jini enquired loudly, clearing her throat.

                 Mira smoothed over her ruffled features and ignored the horrific sting of the mark on her wrist. “What?” she snapped, betraying that calm façade.

                “You need to make a decision,” Ezra told her impatiently. “What do we do with him? Do we continue the ceremony?”

                Resisting the urge to glare at the Elder, Mira took in the scene before her. Jareth and Sarah Williams lay unconscious on the floor in a bloody mess. The chamber was a shambles, with everyone craning to see and eyes looking at her expectantly. Brynn was watching the sleeping human with a disturbed expression, having wiped himself clean of her blood. She’d known the woman was a brave fool, but to do something like this…it infuriated her. How close they had been to restoring everything, how soon she would’ve been in control once more! And now she’d spoiled it again, forcing Jareth’s hand. The pair were absolutely intent on making martyrs of themselves.

                _Then let them,_ she thought bitterly _. Death is too easy an option for dedicated fools._

“No,” she declared firmly. “He will not be killed.”

                Ezra’s eyes widened, as expected, and her mouth opened wide. “But –”

                “He is banished,” Mira interrupted forcefully, gaze on her son. “I banish Jareth El’Maven to the Above from this day until the Last. And Miss Williams…” she flicked empty eyes over the limp body of the woman who had become a permanent thorn in her side. “Will learn what true sacrifice feels like.”

 

* * *

 

 

The air was rich with different smells, most of which were unpleasant: cigarette smoke, gas fumes and grease. The noise was unbearably chaotic: cars rushing by in toxic gusts of wind, the clamour of busy crowds, sirens screeching, dogs barking, music thumping somewhere in the distance. People swarmed like bugs through the streets, blind in their urgency to be anywhere but where they were, often bumping into him without apology. The place conjured a word in his mind that came with confusing distaste: _city._ Just why he should despise a scene he barely remembered was beyond him, only that it had something to do with being the last place he’d visited in this world.

                That in itself was an odd thought: _this_ world, as if there was another. But the blonde haired man with eyes that didn’t match and a bleeding hand could not remember any other world or anything beyond his own name. He was called Jareth; he knew that much. Everything else fluctuated. Cars and food vendors and street lights were no mystery to him but seemed as if they should have been. He stood clutching his hand at the entrance of a dim alleyway, unable to explain why it felt like he didn’t belong. It nagged at him like a half-remembered name, a forgotten story hidden somewhere in the back of his mind.

                Every now and then someone would glance curiously at his odd attire – tight black pants and flowing white shirt beneath a crimson vest and cloak – and balk at his face for some reason, shuffling on quickly. Jareth closed his eyes and leaned into the concrete building that towered over him, oppressive and foreboding. He was painfully confused, certain that he hadn’t existed this way only a moment ago. The deep cut in his palm throbbed and he winced, holding it to his chest, concerned by the amount of blood dripping from his enclosed fist. He really needed to do something about it.

                A gentle thump against his boot made him look down: a large round ball had rolled to his feet. The shape made him think of much smaller ones made of crystal, a flash of memory fading before he could reach for it.

                “You going to kick it back or – whoa. Is that blood?”

                The voice held an accent similar to his own and belonged to a small boy, a leggy thing with shaggy black hair and holes in the knees of his trousers. His eyes flicked between Jareth and the ball, staring with a mix of curiosity and wariness, a colt ready to flee. He seemed to be weighing up how much he really wanted the ball back. Jareth blinked tiredly at the boy. A question. He’d been asked a question. _Is that blood?_

                “It isn’t mine.” An odd answer to come from nowhere, without recalling the source of the information. With one hand he tugged the cloak so it covered his blood stained clothes.

                “Whose is it then?” The boy had one hand pressed against a telephone pole, poised as if ready to push off in a hurry.

                Jareth shrugged. “I don’t remember. Would you like your ball back?”

                “Yeah. Thanks.”

                With difficulty he bent and scooped up the ball in one hand, tossing it to him. It was then that the boy noticed the blood dripping from his hand.

                “ _That’s_ yours, isn’t it? Are you hurt?”

                “Apparently,” Jareth replied dryly, growing agitated at his own confusion. “Unless I’ve forgotten about some lost tendency to bleed without reason.”

                “Are you homeless?”

                It was an innocent question, posed without pity or judgement. “What makes you think that?”

                The boy shrugged, spinning the ball in quick grubby hands. “There’s a lot of homeless people around here. Dad says London is infested with them.” His nose wrinkled in distaste, apparently disagreeing with the thought.

                “Your father sounds unpleasant.”

                The boy nodded. “Mum doesn’t like him much either. Why are you dressed like that?”

                “It’s all I’ve got,” Jareth answered plainly. “Is that where we are? London?”

                “Blimey, you _are_ a nutter, aren’t you?” the boy laughed gently. “Yeah, we’re in London. What happened to your hand?”

                “I don’t remember,” Jareth replied, becoming increasingly impatient. “Look, I don’t suppose you could be of any use and find me something for my injury?”

                “Like bandages? We’ve got them at home.” He scrutinised Jareth carefully, cocking his head to one side so that his shaggy hair fell into his eyes. “But I don’t know…mum says not to talk to strangers. She’ll be cross. And you _are_ covered in someone else’s blood.”

                “Yes, why doesn’t that frighten you?” Jareth asked curiously. _It worries **me**._

                The boy shrugged again, a limp one-armed gesture. “Something about you I guess. I don’t know. You look like the good kind of nutter.” He spun the ball a few times, thinking. “I could bring some stuff to you, if you like. For your hand.”

                “That would be very much appreciated,” he replied earnestly, feeling pinpricks of tension at his temples. “Shall I wait here?”

                “Yeah. I won’t be long; my flat’s not far off.”

                “What’s your name?”

                “Christopher.”

                “Thank you, Christopher.”

                He shrugged again. Did all little boys do that so often? Were they so unburdened by the weight of the world that they could cast aside so much so easily? Christopher disappeared without another word and left Jareth to his musings. His wound throbbed. Trying to inspect it, he glimpsed a fairly neat cut the width of his whole palm before blood spilled forth and he had to close his fist again. It was worryingly deep. He had no clue where it had come from. Wrapping the edge of his cloak around the fist, Jareth found an upturned crate in the alley and took a seat. Dipping his head back, it was difficult to blot out his unpleasant surroundings even with his eyes pressed shut tightly. There were far too many scents to wrinkle the nose and too much noise for him to find an ounce of calmness. Nobody else seemed interested in noticing the strange man on the milk crate, which was something he felt uncertain about. Were there no kind people in this… _London_ , save for children? The notion of being completely on his own was dismal, yet he didn’t think there was much these busy blank faces would do for him at any rate.

                An hour crawled by and still the boy hadn’t returned. At least Jareth guessed it was an hour. His sense of time seemed to be askew, a thought that worried him deeply for some reason. The sun was starting to set; the whole drab street was lit with feint amber. Jareth stood and paced, quelling his impatience by counting footsteps back and forth along the alleyway. More time passed by, more people threw harried glances his way, and still Christopher was nowhere to be seen. The air took on a distinct chill; Jareth wrapped his cloak snugly around himself and pressed fist to his chest without looking at it. The wound had started to throb continuously and he had no desire to go prodding it.

He considered just finding some other kind of help, leaving the alley, but what if Christopher appeared just as he left? The pain in his hand was becoming distracting; it was difficult to make a decision about what to do. He sat down again and pulled his legs up, huddling beneath the cloak. _Dashing King Jareth,_ he thought bitterly without any clue where the title came from. _Forced to wait on a grotty little boy for help. If only they could see me now._ Who _they_ were, exactly, he had no idea. But being angry seemed to help divert from the aching of his hand. Each throb sent a fresh wave of unease through him. He was lost and aimless in a grim city with someone else’s blood spattered across his odd clothing. He didn’t need a proper memory to know that heading into public this way might catch unwanted attention. His headache worsened, his hand pulsed and his stomach began to rumble. The night wore on, the street noise eventually lulling him into a fretful sleep.

“Hey. Wake up.”

                There was a light pressure on his shoulder, the ineffectual hand of a boy. With a groan Jareth blinked at the brightness around him. The air was cool, the sky a dull blue, the street packed as ever with people scurrying along. How long had he been asleep? It felt like no time at all, yet his back was stiff, the tips of his ears were cold and his wound was on _fire_.

                “What kept you?” he asked mildly, blowing damp hair from his face. Was he sweating? He felt warm despite the chill in the air.

                “I’m sorry,” Christopher replied sincerely, dropping a knapsack at his feet. “Mum called me in for tea and I’m not allowed out after that. I had to wait ‘til everyone went to work so I could come back this morning.” His clear green eyes narrowed, head tilting a little to the side. “You don’t look too good. How’s your hand?”

“Dandy,” Jareth coughed, clearing his throat, sitting up with a pained stretch. “What did you bring?”

Christopher knelt at Jareth’s feet as he began digging through the bag, pulling out a fistful of medical supplies. “I got some stuff that mum puts on me when I get hurt; it really stings but it’s good for you. And some plasters and a bandage roll and some clean wipes.” He thrust them unceremoniously onto Jareth’s lap and continued rifling through the bag. “I nicked some of my brother’s clothes for you too, since you said you don’t have anything else. He’s away at college so he won’t know.” A crumpled pair of black trousers and a navy sweatshirt were ripped from their hiding places and dumped beside him, along with a denim jacket and a flaky pastry that had left crusts over the whole collection. Christopher eyed Jareth warily. “Did I do okay?”

His stomach growled at the sight of the pastry, but he smiled patiently and gestured for the boy to help him with the medicine. “You did wonderfully Christopher,” he assured him. “Thank you very much.”

Clearly pleased, the boy set about unwrapping Jareth’s hand from his cloak and preparing a wipe. The pair of them hissed at the sight of the bloodied palm, drenched in crimson and looking a little swollen. “Are you sure you don’t want to just go to the doctor?” the boy asked.

Jareth shook his head. “I’ll be fine. I just need to clean it and have a pick at that delightful pastry you were kind enough to bring.” He had a feeling that heading toward any figure of authority would lead to trouble.

Unsure but glowing with the praise, Christopher reached out for Jareth’s outstretched fist and began cleaning it. He steered clear of the wound itself for the time being, intent on wiping away the old blood first. Jareth clenched his teeth and tried not to squirm but each bump of his fist was like being stuck by a hot needle. Even underneath the blood, his skin was faintly redder than he recalled it being before.

“Do you remember anything yet?” Christopher enquired, his small mouth set firm in concentration.

“Not a scrap,” Jareth replied with a shrug and a barely concealed grimace.

“You don’t suppose you’re a superhero, do you?”

The question took him by surprise to say the least. “What makes you think that?” How in the Fates’ design did he know what a superhero was anyway?

He shrugged, pausing to collect a fresh handful of wipes and the antiseptic. “It sounds like an origins story to me: you wake up with no memory except your name – which is _what_ , by the way?”

“Jareth.”

“See, how wicked is that? Plus, you have those markings on your face and those weird eyes…and that blood probably came from battling with your arch nemesis who wiped your memory. And you have a cape.”

“It’s a cloak,” Jareth corrected, amused and stunned all at once. He had a vague suspicion he’d never been considered a _hero_ before.

“And if you lost,” Christopher continued, growing more excited by the word, “Then that means the bad guy is still out there! And you have to uncover your old memories so you can beat him!”

“Ouch,” Jareth hissed as the boy’s grip tightened on his fist in enthusiasm. “Do be careful, super boy. I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself.”

“Sorry,” he said fervently, relaxing his hold. “But I still think that’d be pretty neat.”

“Quite so.”

The boy held a fresh wipe but paused in the act of unfolding Jareth’s fist. “Um…I’m going to clean the cut now.”

“Yes.”

“And…it’s going to hurt.”

He arched an eyebrow. “I’m a big boy, Christopher, I think I can handle –”

Whatever he could handle, the boy never found out. The words dissolved into an agonised, guttural moan as the antiseptic-drenched wipe was pressed firmly against the cut. Knives were splitting his skull, blades raking along his skin and oh how it _scorched_ him! The only thing that brought him back to reality was the terrified expression on the child’s face, clearly worried he’d done something wrong. Guilt suffused with physical torture and made Jareth grit his teeth and force a smile. “You’re doing perfectly, Christopher,” he bit out. “Thank you.”

“It’s…still bleeding an awful lot, isn’t it?”

“Indeed,” Jareth breathed, sharp tears pricking the corners of his eyes. “Perhaps we should just wrap it up for the time being, hmm?”

“Okay.” Christopher began unpeeling a few plasters, only to realise they weren’t big enough to be of any use.

“A bandage will do just fine,” Jareth assured him, quick to avoid letting the boy feel inadequate. It wouldn’t do to have his only confidant burst into tears, not when there were still so many favours to ask. And there was something about seeing the boy frown that he had a deep aversion to. Breathing through another bout of agony, Jareth thanked him again once the wound was wrapped snugly with the bandage. Flexing fingers, he sought out the pastry next, the raw pit in his stomach growling. Christopher handed it to him with a concerned expression.

“You sure you’re not going to pass out?” he asked, watching as Jareth closed his eyes and consumed the snack in absolute concentration.

“A little more food and I’ll be good as new,” he replied, licking his fingers.

“There wasn’t much in, so that’s all I brought. But I have a few quid if you’d like to get chips.”

He nodded instantly, not even entirely certain what ‘chips’ were – but a memory of crunchy golden something sprang to mind. “I suppose I should change my suspicious attire first…”

“Probably,” Christopher agreed, scrutinising him with a mild grin. “You do look a bit of a nutter like that.”

Scanning the alley, Jareth spotted a stack of crates and boxes he could use as a shield between himself and the street. Not that anybody seemed to have noticed a small boy and a tall thin man conversing in the lane anyway. Collecting the clothing with one hand, he stooped and attempted to remove things one-handed. It was difficult to say the least. His cloak seemed to be attached by pure free will, with no visible sign of a button or strap. Eventually, after half-tearing the vest off in frustration, he was able to wriggle out of the billowing shirt and cloak all in one. By the time he’d pulled on the sweater and jacket, hand jarring with each movement, he looked at the trousers and decided his own tights were really not odd enough to worry about removing. Returning to Christopher, he tugged at his jacket collar irritably. “I feel like a fool in this. Am I meant to?”

“Well it’s less weird than a blood-stained super hero cape,” the boy quipped, packing up his knapsack and shouldering it.

“It’s a _cloak_ ,” Jareth replied emphatically, meeting him at the lip of the alley. “But I see your point. Where to from here, little man?”

They looked a strange pair, a scruffy young boy and a shaggy haired man in absurdly tight pants and boots. But nobody seemed to linger too much on their faces as they disappeared into the crowd.

Perhaps London was just the place for an odd thing like himself.

 

* * *

 

 

The fact remained that things were not so tidy as he’d hoped. Her Majesty just did not understand the position he was in. As a newly appointed Goblin King, Brynn Fel Vaden should have been celebrating his victory over the hordes. His monsters – yes, _his_ , now – should have fallen quiet in respectful acceptance of their new leader. But the reports brought to him were troubling: a disturbance along the West Wall, stories of fights breaking out between the creatures, discontent throughout the City. His Kingdom was divided. Over whether to accept its new King. He could understand their reluctance given the dismal way the ceremony had concluded. In most ways he was the perfect for the role of Goblin King: a clear logical thinker, unyielding as stone, respectful of the sanctity of Fae law. The goblins knew that His Majesty Brynn Fel Vaden would abide by their customs down to the syllable and not shy away from a single duty.

                But what he _hadn’t_ done was deliver them their prize: the bodies of Jareth El’Maven and Sarah Williams. The hordes believed in rules upheld, traditions respected. To deny them the bodies of the failed ruler and the human that caused them so much strife was a great insult. It was a mistake, the last one needing amendment in order to obtain true control over the realm once more. If he could just deliver the necessary justices, he would have a Kingdom united.

                The obstacle in the way of such success was _different_ , to say the least, and sat before him now. Sarah Williams bore striking resemblance to a Fae noble with her facial markings, sleek dress and stiff posture. Or at least she _would_ have mastered the look, had her dress not been torn and bloodied and her marks smudged. There was a most obvious point that belied the sad truth of her humanity, and it was in her eyes: they showed far too much emotion.

                Brynn hadn’t had an experience with a human for many long decades. Yet there was nothing else it could be; why else would she show so little interest at his arrival? She was straight-backed in the chair, one hand enveloping the other in her lap, fingers tracing a circle around her left wrist. For all that poise and determination, there was a definite expression of something soft around the edges, a light in those green eyes that considered him distantly. His own scrutiny was far more incisive, cutting to the core of the matter at hand with no more expression than a half-attempted frown.

“The Queen won’t let me kill you.”

                Sarah Williams looked down at her wrist, seemingly concerned with the way it glowed inconsistently from moment to moment. “No,” she replied distantly, sounding both curious and unsurprised all at once.

“I don’t understand why.” He didn’t like not understanding things. Why would her Majesty not see the pointlessness of her chosen path? He needed the girl to die. Not out of any intentional malice, but from practical necessity. His was a hard soul, honed by steel over centuries. Not at all malleable and pliant like Jareth’s had been.

                “Of course you don’t,” Sarah replied quietly. A fan of dark hair fell across her face. She made no attempt to move it before speaking again, so that he had to listen closely to catch it: “None of you morons understand anything worthwhile.”

                He refused to bristle at the comment. It took much more than silly human insults to goad Brynn into reacting. “Explain yourself,” he commanded patiently.

                Sarah held up her wrist to him and suddenly he saw in her eyes something a little more inhuman. “She wants to punish me,” she said bluntly. “I wanted to die for Jareth but she won’t let me. She wants me to live without him. Because it hurts more.”

                This seemed a poor excuse for denying him the right to appease the hordes. “That’s a vow mark on your skin. Who did you take up a contract with?”

                She didn’t answer, tucking hair behind her ear in silence. The marked wrist fell into her lap once more. Clouds passed over her face and the pain in her voice was obvious even to him as she spoke next: “Jareth’s dead, isn’t he?”

                That was a surprise to him, yet he kept an unreadable face and clasped hands behind his back. “He may as well be,” he answered shortly. “ _Who_ did you take up a contract with, Sarah? Was it the Queen?”

                But she clearly wasn’t listening. At his words she’d clenched both hands tightly into fists, becoming rigid and aggressively intent on him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she breathed in a quick rush. “He’s still alive?”

                “Has nobody told you?”

                “I woke up in my room, Goblin Ki –” she choked, the term getting caught halfway out. “I haven’t spoken to anyone since I woke up here. All I remember is you stabbing me –” that said with a ripple of disdain – “And Jareth talking to me, and then I woke up in my room.” Whatever had held her broken in the chair earlier seemed to have been replaced with hope. It drove the girl to her feet with its vehemence, that very human light shining once more in her eyes. “But I don’t have a stab wound. What the hell happened? Where’s Jareth?”

                It was quickly becoming apparent that she would not be answering his questions until she got her own answers. “You shouldn’t have returned,” Brynn told her. “He’d have been far better off.”

“You were going to kill him!” she hissed angrily.

“A mercy, considering the fate that has befallen him thanks to your interference.”

“Can you stop bullshitting and just _tell me_ what happened?”

“The Queen banished him to the Above, Sarah Williams. Jareth is a mortal with no memory of his life as a Fae and not a single thing to his name.”

 

* * *

 

 

_He’s alive_.

He was trapped up in her world, without money or memory. She would probably die here, or be kept as some morbid prize. There was little chance they’d ever see each other again…and yet all Sarah could feel was total relief. Jareth was _alive_. A sob escaped her and she covered her face to keep Brynn from seeing that she was laughing. Laughing, because these goddamn Fae were so ridiculously _pretentious_ that they thought it was better to die than live in the human world. Their arrogance had kept him safe. _Morons,_ Sarah thought, shoulders shaking with uncontrollable joy. _They’re all total morons._

                The King seemed to think she was crying. “You understand what you’ve done now, don’t you?” he asked her in a tone just short of patronising.

                With an effort Sarah calmed herself, smoothing away a bitter smile. If they thought they were punishing him enough, then she wasn’t going to make them believe otherwise. Laughing in the King’s face would probably make him realise that more needed to be done to Jareth. Pretending to wipe away tears, Sarah had a moment to think about just what she’d heard. “Jareth’s a mortal?” she sniffed.  “How is that possible?” But a snippet of memory flared in the back of her mind: _live my years. Take them all, Sarah Williams._ The look on her face must have betrayed her. The King met her wide-eyed gaze with knowing, piercing grey eyes. The man could make stone seem warm. “Jareth,” she murmured, sinking into her chair again.

                “What my predecessor did goes against every moral convention in my people’s world,” he replied disgustedly. “To heal another is acceptable…but _transference_ …to a _human_ …it violates the nature of our existence. No, worse, it _spits_ on it!”

                His voice had risen to a booming cadence, fists clenched tightly. It was the first time he’d shown any sort of emotion and the sight made her wary.

                “What exactly did he _do_ to me?” she asked carefully, hand reaching up to caress the pendant around her neck.

                “You were a moment away from death,” the King explained sharply. “And the fool used his immortality to keep you alive, mocking the very foundations of our society. _Nobody_ in the Domain is more important than a Fae. Without us, there _is_ no Domain.” He had started to pace, cracking knuckles, throwing furious glances at Sarah. “Now he’s no better than a human and we have lost one of our own, one who could make Contributions to the Harvest.” As if realising how much he’d revealed of himself, the King forced his feet to stop mid-pace and turned back to Sarah. “Transference has not been so much as _whispered_ for centuries,” he said in a milder tone. “We aren’t even sure how he knew about it.”

                Sarah did. She knew Jareth like she knew the sun would rise every morning. “He loves to read,” she told him quietly. “He has thousands of books and he was a scholar when he was young. I’m sure he read it somewhere.”

                It was difficult not to feel intimidated by the accusatory expression aimed her way. Yet Sarah smoothed a hand down her leg and returned that unnerving eye contact. He would not have the satisfaction of knowing she was uneasy. “And _you_ , Sarah Williams,” he said, pointing a finger at her.  “You have far too much power for a human amongst wolves. You have unravelled a thousand of the webs in our life just by existing. So tell me: _what_ is the nature of your contract? Why does the Queen deny me your death?”

                “I made a deal with her,” Sarah explained, exuding nonchalance as well as we she could.  Just to annoy him. “I told her I’d get Jareth’s confession but she wasn’t allowed to hurt me, or him, and that she had to return me home, reinstate my existence and –” she broke off. _And pardon my friends. What happened to the boys?_ She didn’t want to ask, couldn’t bear the answer right now. And then, on the heels of that thought: _Jareth’s Above and I’m not. I don’t exist at all for him. I never existed in the first place._ “I wouldn’t worry about your goblin problems,” she told him quietly, inspecting the mark on her wrist again. “This has been playing up since I woke. I think…I think it means she’s going to go back on her promise. She’s not sending me home.” Without looking at him, nails digging into the glowing mark as if she could tear it away, Sarah sighed. “Looks like I’m all yours, your Majesty.” _Jareth would have come up with some smart-ass comment at that,_ she thought, filled with deep longing for the beautiful smug bastard.

                “But for what purpose?” he asked. “You are no use to me alive, Sarah Williams. It’s a fact most unfortunate for the both of us.”

                “Well until you figure it out, can I go take a bath?” she asked wearily, running a hand through her mussed hair. “I feel like shit.” And nobody would hear her crying in the bathroom if she ran the water fast enough.

                “You may do what you want, for now,” he replied dismissively, apparently just as sick of the conversation as she. “So long as you stay in your quarters.”

                “But the library,” she protested, the first thing to come to mind. “My books are there! And my typewriter, and –”

                “Don’t presume you aren’t just a prisoner here until I can resolve things, Sarah Williams,” the King interrupted coldly. “I owe you nothing. You are an inheritance from my predecessor, a mistake to be amended. Until I can do so, you will _stay in your quarters_.”

                The sudden command in his voice made her skin prickle with realisation. She was more a prisoner now than she’d ever been with Jareth, at the total mercy of a man with a horrific job to do. And worse, a man who wasn’t softened by feelings for her. Torn between deferring to his obvious control and kicking him swiftly where it hurt, Sarah settled for matching his impassive stare. “Yes, your Majesty,” she replied with a sniff, getting to her feet. “May I be excused?”

                He nodded and she went looking for clothes to change into, ignoring the fact he hadn’t yet left.

                “Miss Williams…” his voice called. If she didn’t know any better she’d say he was hesitating.

                She looked over her shoulder at him and raised a brow. He was all calm features and cool elegance, not a hint of wavering confidence.

                “I know you’re only human, but I must admit…you surprise me. When you die, I will consider it an honour to be the one to end your story in our Domain.”

                Sarah blinked. “Uh, thanks,” she responded lamely.

                With another nod he straightened his vest and abruptly vanished.

Was that a compliment as well as a promise of death? “They’re all insane,” she muttered, unable to stop the shiver than ran through her body. “The whole damn lot of them.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

There was a song stuck in his head.

                It had something to do with the world falling down, a cadence that seemed irritatingly familiar though he was certain he’d never heard it before. Perhaps it was delirium, Jareth thought distantly as he wolfed down another mouthful of chips. He _did_ feel a touch feverish. The cool air in the café was making him shiver like he’d plunged into icy water.

                “You’ll sick up if you don’t go slow on those,” his companion commented, watching Jareth, chin in his hands. “That’s what happened to my mate Ian once. He was real hungry, and he ate too much too fast, and he was sick all over the lunch table.”

                Swallowing, Jareth waved a hand at the waitress and she hurried over to refill his water jug. He’d noticed that people seemed to be quick to jump at his commands. The lady who’d taken their order had almost broken her ankle rushing back to the kitchen to fetch him some tea. What was it about him that seemed to exude authority?

                “Are you listening?”

                “Hmm? Oh, Christopher, yes – sorry – I’m just absurdly hungry.”

                “I noticed,” he remarked with surprisingly dry wit for a small boy. “Why is everyone jumping about to serve you?”

                Jareth shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine, little man.” He drained his cup of tea, finding he didn’t quite like it so sweet – Christopher had dropped the cubes in like they would be snatched up by goblins if he wasn’t quick enough.

                “I’m sticking with the super hero thing,” the boy said, dipping a chip into the puddle of sauce he’d acquired. “Even policemen listen to super heroes.”

                A wave of heat overwhelmed Jareth; he wiped sweat from his brow with a napkin. “Of course you’re sticking with that,” he muttered, closing his eyes. “You’re a persistent little fellow aren’t you?”

                “You sure you’re okay?”

                “Fine and dandy.”

                “You look awful.”

                “I could say the same of you: scraggly hair, scuffed shoes, torn pants…” he opened his eyes in search of the salt shaker. “I would think you an urchin boy if I didn’t know any better.”

                At first he didn’t answer. Then, in an odd voice: “What are you doing?”

                “What?”

                Christopher was staring at him strangely. At first Jareth didn’t know why until he realised he’d thrust out a hand for the salt shaker across the table, as if to summon it to him. _How strange_. _Why would I do that_? He let his hand fall quickly, glancing around though there were few patrons besides themselves. With a raised brow Christopher passed the salt to him. “I…I don’t know why I did that.” With a heavy sigh he wiped his forehead again, waving the napkin across his face like a fan.

                “Jareth…what are you going to do?”

                It was a rather sombre question from a shaggy haired schoolboy. He was feeling far too flustered to come up with a suitable response.

                “You don’t have any money.”

                “None at all.”

                “Or family.”

                “That I know of.”

                “Or a home.”

                “It would seem that way.” Jareth splashed his burning face with water from his glass and eyed his bandaged hand with a frown.

                “Are you _sure_ you’re okay?”

                “You say that so often…” Jareth muttered, palm pressed to his forehead. The boy looked to be floating out of his chair, the food on his plate swimming out of focus. He shook his head firmly to clear it but that only made things worse. A sharp ache took up residence in the front of his mind, pulsing in time with the throbbing of his hand.

                Vaguely he heard the sound of Christopher calling for help, and felt the touch of someone patting him on the back.

                “Sir?” a female voice enquired. “Sir, can you hear me?”

                Flames. He was on fire. “Live without the sunlight…” he whispered, teeth chattering. Snow. He was swimming through icy waters. Shaking, always shaking. Always hurting. Standing up would help. He just had to get moving to clear away the dizziness.

                “Sir, I don’t think –”

                He stood up and promptly fainted.

 

* * *

 

 

Keel had never been _in_ love but that didn’t mean she didn’t know what love felt like. She knew it to be the quiet humming of her heart in moments spent with her mother. It was the rush of crisp wind against her soul when she drew her sister into an embrace. Love made her laugh at the antics of her younger relatives, children learning about the world. And above all else Keel understood that love made her fierce. It was the grinding of her jaw and the spark in her eyes that defied anyone to try harming those she held dear. Keel Eri was a wildly protective Elf.

                Which was why she had a goblin pinned underfoot in her home.

                The night was a raucous mess. Her cousin Wick was sprawled on the floor coughing violently; a puny little goblin was scrabbling at her boots with feverish enthusiasm and demanding she fight fair. Another one, enormous and hairy, was groaning pathetically and knocking everything to the floor with his great swaying arms. The nasty thing beneath her firm foot was shouting muffled abuse into the floorboards.

                “Friends!” shouted the beast behind her, his rank smell wrinkling her nose as she glared at all them all.

                Though she vaguely recalled these creatures from the Castle to be her cousin’s acquaintances, she was confused and angry. What was her fool cousin doing, appearing in her home at this hour with goblin hands wrapped around his throat? Much as she thought of him, she could not understand the trouble Wick seemed to find for himself. Nevertheless, having pried off the attacker instantly Keel now wondered just what to do with the others. Pressing her foot harder into the creature’s back, she growled low in her throat.

                “Friends don’t strangle one another until they lay dying on the floor!” she roared, casting a worried eye on her cousin, who still bore the gaunt look of a creature abused.

Breathing deeply, he rubbed at his neck and sat up. “I don’t understand what happened…” he said hoarsely, meeting Keel’s gaze.

“I have saved you, cousin, that’s what happened,” Keel replied darkly. “It seems I will forever be your saviour because you’re fool enough to make friends with the wrong people.”

_“Warrrghagghh!_ ” came a muffled shout from beneath her foot. With a free hand Keel reached down and plucked the tiny goblin from her leg, holding him by the scruff.

“Unhand me at once, my Lady!” squeaked the foul-smelling creature. “And remove your respective boot from my companion’s person! Allow me to explain the circumstances!”

Keel blinked at him. She tensed at the great weight that settled on her arm. It was the immense goblin with a pleading expression on his deep set face. He touched her arm with gentle care and an imploring whine. Reluctantly she eased her foot from the goblin on the floor. “Explain,” she hissed impatiently.

“ _Never_ has Hoggle ever been so mistreated in his life!” shouted the goblin, slamming a lumpy paw against the floorboards. “I ain’t never _seen_ the likes of it, throwin’ an innocent ol’ Dwarf to the ground just like _that_ without no warnin’ or nothin’ –”

“What my alarmed comrade is trying to _say_ , dear Elf maiden,” said the tiny one with a loud clearing of his throat. “Is that we are not the monsters you fear us to be. We are friends of this goodly young Elf and sought only to protect him from danger.”

                “By _choking_ him?” Keel snapped.

                “I weren’t goin’ to hurt him none!” replied the floor goblin just as sharply. “We was in the Palace and Sarah had just run off to save the King’s neck. There weren’t no way we was gettin’ outta there alive if I didn’t pretend to threaten yer cousin so he’d transport us away! I saved the bloody fool’s life! Now _get – off – me!_ ”

                Sceptical, Keel sought out her cousin’s gaze for confirmation. She may as well have asked a stranger. His bruised eyes, momentarily bright with fear and some semblance of a real soul, had glazed over again. He stood by the rough wooden table in her house and stared at the scene before him as if just happening upon it. “Wick?” she called, catching his attention after a moment. “Is this true? Were you in the Palace?”

                “Yes Miss,” he responded mildly, straightening his vest. “I was sent to take Sarah Williams home to the Above.” He blushed in shame. “But I admit we were side tracked. We were scaling the City Walls when we were attacked…and I accidentally transported us to the Palace.” He wrung his hands as if fearing her disapproval. “And then sir Hoggle here saw fit to threaten me…and now we’re here. I apologise for the intrusion. I really should get back to seeing Miss Williams home safely.”

                She was filled with powerful fury seeing him in such a state. Even in the days before being Severed Wick had never been quite able to master subservience. His Servant Self had always contained a spark of some dormant rebellion from the old blood. Now he wore the most defeated soul she’d ever seen. Even having the breath strangled out of him did nothing to change it. Rage flooded her until she was quivering enough to shoot sparks from her fingers. The air crackled thickly around her. She released both goblins from their hold and went to her cousin. Though he gave nothing in return she embraced him tightly, brushing her fingers across his temples when she pulled away. _I am **so** sorry, my blood. _His smile was distant and clearly unfazed.

                “Sarah ain’t goin’ home, yer brainless beanpole!” shouted Hoggle behind them. “Fates above who knows what’s happened to her by now!”

                “What did she do?” Keel asked.

                “The Lady Sarah hast forsaken Fae culture once more and attempted to rescue the Goblin King from his fate,” said the little one, patting the big one comfortingly when he groaned. “Were I not forced to leave so suddenly I’d have stayed to the end to defend her!” His ears drooped. “Now, I am very much afraid she has been left to the mercy of those terrible creatures.”

                “The hordes?” Keel enquired.

                “ _Fae_ ,” spat the big one with surprising vehemence.

                “She walked right on in to the King’s _trial_ ,” Hoggle groaned miserably. “Why didn’t we stop her? We should ‘ave _stopped_ her!”

                “Twas not how the Lady wanted it to be, Sir,” said the small goblin. “You know as well as I that she was intent on rescuing his Majesty.”

                “Well we ‘ave to see that she’s all right, no matter!”

                “What you _ought_ to do first is apologise to sir Wick,” replied his companion. “Granted it was necessary to spare him further abuse from his superiors, but we _did_ give him and his poor relation here quite a fright, sir Hoggle.”

                “I am _not_ afraid,” Keel spat, which was more true than anybody could understand. “And you aren’t the ones who owe my cousin.” She was looking at Wick: at his split lip, the purpled bruising on his nose that was yet to heal, the stark line of his cheekbones that had never stood out so prominently before. And love was burning through her veins like fire, the ferocity of her need to protect him overwhelming thought for anything else. “The Queen is the one with the debt to repay.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Your Majesty, surely you see my reasoning now.”

Brynn was not a beggar. He did not make pleas or grovel at the feet of others. Mira knew this just as she’d known it of Ezra, his ancient relative. Fel Vaden faces did not know how to portray desperation. Yet the King’s newest course of action could fall under no other guise: the man was entreating her.

                And, looking over the ledgers of the Labyrinth and Goblin Realms he’d presented, Mira had to concede she understood. The Labyrinth goings-on barely interested her – what humans got themselves caught up in mattered little to her. But the reports from the realms of the hordes…they were a different story. Uprisings in the City; escapees terrorising neighbouring farmlands; communities questioning her leadership; threats made against the new King…the control she’d been working so hard to regain was in danger of slipping away.

                And simply because she wanted to punish a little human. Mira was aggravated with herself: she’d let emotion make the decisions though she’d sworn never to do so. Perhaps she hadn’t learnt enough from her mother’s mistakes after all.

                “And you’re certain it’s her they want?” Mira asked with a thin-lipped expression, holding a scroll in hand. It was tempting to throw it violently aside in her current mood.

                “Jareth is gone, as far as the hordes are concerned,” Brynn replied, taking a step forward as if he could sense her resolve wavering. “It’s the girl they want. The one that started it all in the first place. They’re out for blood, your Majesty. And it must be hers.”

                Mira closed her eyes, so familiar now with the itch of her vow mark that she could almost ignore it. Almost. “Very well,” she spoke quietly. There would be pain to suffer for breaking the promise, but nothing she didn’t deserve and couldn’t handle. _I am what I must be_ , she thought. _I do what must be done_. “Give her to the hordes,” she instructed at last.

 

* * *

 

 

It was weird contemplating your own death when you were only twenty-five. It was even weirder realising that you were actually a little bit okay with it. Was this how Jareth felt? Sarah wondered this restlessly, curled into her side on the bed, tracing the insignia on his pendant. Had he been lying there warm against her skin and thought about all the good that would come of his death?

                “He’s alive,” she murmured aloud into the pillow. The air in the room felt still and thin, sending her deeper into the nest of blankets. “And he’ll stay that way. He doesn’t remember me but that’s fine. He’ll figure out how to get by and he’ll have a nice life.” Now completely hidden under the covers it was difficult to see the pendant. Her thumb ran along its smooth silver surface as she talked herself into accepting whatever fate she might be about to meet. “Dad never had me…and Toby and Alice will be spoilt brats. But that’s fine too. They’ll know better when they’re older. And they won’t ever have to face the goblins. That was the point of all this in the first place, remember Sarah?” It was a small comfort, listening to the whispered tones of her own voice. Anything to distract from the gnawing ache in the pit of her stomach, a hunger she couldn’t even begin to fill.

                In the brief moment of silence that passed, dangerous thoughts began to surface again. Worries about what had happened to Wick and her goblin boys; nostalgia for the life she hadn’t quite started to live; all the years she’d wasted on other men when Jareth had been there waiting. “How can I die now?” she murmured hoarsely, clutching the pendant tight to her chest. Tears wet the pillow beneath her cheek. “How is this it?”

                As much as she wanted to know in her heart that it was for the best, she couldn’t help knowing other things too. That they’d probably feed her to the goblins, because that was just something those twisted fucks would do. That it would hurt being eaten alive. That she’d probably never find out what had happened to her friends. “It’s okay,” she forced out through heavier tears. “There’s nothing else you can possibly do, Sarah.” Drawing her knees right up to her chest, she lay beneath the covers and tried to breathe deeply. She was doing quite well before her wrist started to burn. “All that matters is that everyone else is safe,” she said firmly before realising she was in more than emotional pain. Her wrist pulsed angrily with feverish heat for a few seconds; she hissed and threw the covers back, gasping at the rush of fresh air. “Son of a –”

                The mark was gone. Not a bump or scratch was left to say it’d ever been there at all. Tentatively she tapped the blank skin with a finger. There was no more pain. Oh, that couldn’t be good.

                “That’s it then,” she announced to the empty room.

                And much as she wanted to be the strong, brave martyr, Sarah Williams couldn’t help feeling completely helpless.

               


	13. Still Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So I thought, seeing as I’m housesitting for some very wealthy people right now, I would do the awesome thing and play Bowie concert dvds on their giant TV (and I mean giant) in the background to inspire me while I continue writing these chapters. But do you know what? Having an ALMOST LIFESIZE version of Bowie from the Sound and Vision tour, being all sexy and increasingly under-dressed, singing all his hits to me…is a bit of a distraction. Who can get any writing done when he’s right there in your face singing to you? But nonetheless, I seem to have pushed through the sexiness and made another chapter! We're on the home stretch here people!  
> P.S I may have sort of half-named one of my OCs after xGutterKittyx, who has had a rough time and makes beautiful watercolour paintings 

**Still Life**

 

Could he recall his last name? Did he know what day of the week it was? Did he remember his birth date? Was he _sure_ he couldn’t remember being in an accident, or suffering some kind of trauma?

                And so the questions went. On and on for two full days after he woke in hospital, repeated so often and by such dull attendants that Jareth thought he might actually die of sheer boredom. That was, of course, if his blood poisoning didn’t finish him off first. The doctors told him – also rather repetitively – that he’d been near-comatose with fever for a day and a half, a result of his badly infected wound.

He remembered little from that time except fretful dreams: half-shadowed faces gnarled and toothy, blank eyes judging from afar and an almost-person, a glimmer of green and black, with a name hanging above its head that he couldn’t recall when waking. Thus far, his conscious experiences were not much better: when there wasn’t a constant stream of questioning he was left on his own for hours at a time. Over the days he grew incredibly restless, thinking of Christopher and wondering if he’d ever see the helpful boy again. Or had he been abandoned here, nothing more than a stray, an unwanted thing wished away?

He was in a self-piteous mood when Joy showed up with lunch. Joy was a nurse but Jareth was certain she’d only become so after being deemed too rough to join the army. She had a face like a brick, gritty and hard and probably capable of breaking glass. She was not especially tall or short, fat or thin, but seemed to be built of something stronger than iron. Her no-nonsense mousy hair was forever pinned back in an unflattering bun. She liked to stick things in him: needles, thermometers, pills, food. Her demeanour was that of a bear that had learnt to communicate and seemed impervious to his commanding aura. All in all, the arrival of this ironically-named beast did little to improve his spirits.

“Lunch, Mr Doe," she announced in a voice flat as parchment. She refused to accept his insistent claims on the name Jareth. It was a name for fairy tales, she chastised him. John Doe was a nice sensible title until they could find out who he really was. It went hand in hand with what she thought of his supposed decision to tattoo his eyebrows in such an absurd fashion. “Do you remember who did that to your face yet?”

“Not yet, my dear,” he replied with false sincerity. There was no easy way to handle the woman. With such little energy he found it less draining to fake niceties than bother arguing. That wasn’t to say he didn’t have a few choice words stored up for when he was feeling better, however. “What fine cuisine have you procured for me today?”

“That smart mouth won’t get you nowhere,” she responded, swinging the fold-out table over his lap and plonking the tray on it without an ounce of grace. “Maybe if you spent less time thinking up ways to charm me and more time on remembering your proper name we’d get somewhere faster.”

If there was anywhere he wanted to go with her, Jareth couldn’t think of it. “I’m doing my best, Nurse Joy, I assure you.” Removing the tray lid, a variety of mild smells hit him: mashed potatoes, no doubt flavourless as they were colourless; an array of over-steamed vegetables; a piece of what he assumed was meat in gravy; a cup of sweet red bouncy something; a travesty of a cup of tea. “This looks delicious. Thank you so much dear,” he said, managing to hold back his grim expression. _At least you aren’t starving in an alley_ , he reminded himself, picking up the plastic spoon with forced enthusiasm.

“I’ll be back in an hour to check your vitals,” she told him. “You’re still a bit too peaky.” She said this as if he were staying ill just to bother her.

“Looking forward to it,” he replied through a mouthful of lukewarm mash.

                Aside from the seemingly long-gone Christopher, Jareth’s only other friend was a male nurse called Con. Con sported wire-rimmed glasses and slicked his dark hair back like a gentleman from the 1920s. He was thirty-something, green eyed, amiable and just like everyone else, pitied the patients of Nurse Joy. He popped around the corner just as she departed, taking a seat at Jareth’s bedside, who had a forkful of the something-and-gravy poised at his lips. “Wouldn’t eat that your Majesty,” he warned casually. He’d taken to giving Jareth various royal titles. “I brought you a sandwich that I can guarantee, unlike that meat, is made of 100 per cent edible foodstuffs.”

                With a sharp grin Jareth took the proffered sandwich, pushing the lunch table and tray aside. “You’re a life saver, comrade,” he said gratefully, sinking his teeth into the soft egg salad and fresh bread.

                “Sort of comes with the job, I’d say,” Con replied easily, stretching out his legs and crossing his ankles. He was a comforting presence, a man at ease with himself in the world. Jareth both enjoyed and envied him for it. “In between changing a million bandages and fluffing pillows. How’re you feeling?”

                “Aside from my constant headache and the dizziness whenever I stand up? Spectacular. It’s all down to Nurse Joy really. There’s just _something_ about her.”

                “Indeed there is,” muttered Con warily, checking down the hall. “Something that will give you a right box around the ears if you aren’t careful.”

                “Why has she not been dismissed yet?” Jareth complained around a mouthful of food.

                “I suspect it because there’s no one brave enough to fire her.”

                “Would you at least do all this ‘vitals’ business for me? Spare me the pain of a Joyous bodily inspection?”

                Con shook his head vigorously and got to his feet. “No chance your Majesty; not worth my head. Sorry.”

                “Then what’s the point of you?” Jareth teased with a roll of his eyes. The sandwich gone, he began picking at the red dessert. Jelly, it was called. He spared a moment to gaze wistfully at the awful cup of tea before picking up his spoon.

                “I don’t suppose there’s any point asking if you’ve remembered anything?” Con leant on the bed rail and looked at him with a sober expression.

                “A woman,” Jareth answered without thinking. It was odd really. He’d only dreamt once of a barely-there form and hadn’t even been certain of the gender. But he knew suddenly, without doubt, that it’d been a woman. “And a maze. Filled with awful creatures.”

                “Sounds more like a nightmare than a memory,” Con replied as he gathered up Jareth’s chart and began flicking through it.

                “I thought you weren’t doing my vitals,” he sniffed, irritated at the dismissal. She was important, whoever she was. He could _feel_ it.

                “No harm in just doing a little reading, is there?” Sensing the change in mood, Con softened his scrutinising expression. “Though I admit, it’s not uncommon for memories to manifest in the psyche as different realities. Just pay close attention to the ones that make you react strongly. Hmmm.”

                That last sound was directed at the chart. Jareth lay down his spoon and empty cup of jelly. “Hmm what?”

                “You’re improving quickly,” the nurse answered with a frown.

                “Isn’t that the idea?”

                Putting the chart away again, Con sighed. “Look, I’m going to level with you. We’re a bit baffled by you.”

                “ _You’re_ baffled?” Jareth remarked. “How in the Fate’s design do you suppose _I_ feel?”

                “This is what I’m talking about,” Con replied. “You’re far too eloquent for a post-traumatic-amnesia patient. You retain new information better than _I_ do. The doctors think you have source amnesia, given that you can tell us what a car is but not where you got the information from.”

                His tone suggested he thought otherwise. “And what do _you_ think happened to me?”

                “I haven’t got a clue,” Con admitted with a shrug. “I just find it odd that your scans show no sign whatsoever of trauma. All you’ve got is that cut which frankly, to me, looks as if it was from one hell of a blade.”

                Jareth looked down at his bandaged hand. It refused to give anything away, not a glimmer or a whisper of its origin. All he had was a truth shared with no one but Christopher: blood on his hands that wasn’t his own. But then again, he thought, perhaps it _had_ been his. How was he supposed to know one spec of blood from another, if all he had to go by was nondescript gut instinct? He inspected his ID band: he had a name, ‘John Doe’, and a Medical Record number instead of a birth date. His entire existence came down two words and a scattering of numbers. “What happened to me?” he murmured, looking up at Con, who cleared his throat.

                “I don’t know,” said his friend with genuine regret. “Jareth, we can’t keep you here without reason. Once your infection clears up –”

                “Where am I to go?” Jareth interrupted. “I’ve nothing, Connor.”

                “We’ll run you through tests with people from Psych.”

                “And then?”

                “I’d like you to stay with me.”

                Apparently this took them both by surprise. Jareth met Con’s wide eyes with his own look of incredulity. “You barely know me, Connor. _I_ barely know me.”

                The nurse shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “There’s something about you, Jareth. I don’t know what it is. But I’ve been here long enough to see patients slip through the cracks. We lose track of people we’re supposed to be helping. I don’t want that to happen to you.”

                He’d been too quick to judge the stream of faces walking by him in that busy street. Humans weren’t all made of blank stares and harried steps. Maybe, he thought, shaking Con’s hand warmly, it came down to circumstance. Maybe it came down to timing, or a connection, or luck. Jareth thanked Connor earnestly with the sudden and inexplicable thought that being thrown into humanity might be just what he’d needed.

 

* * *

 

 

Sarah found the envelope tucked under her door, sealed with wax and looking very official.

The parchment inside smelt fresh when she cracked the seal and felt smooth to the touch. Elegant handwriting, though similar to Jareth’s, portrayed none of the same emotions as his. It was perfect to a fault, regal and authoritative and without a single blemish or blot of hastily-dabbed ink.

The letter was polite, informative and described the details of her impending death.

Apparently the new Goblin King had better things to do than tell her in person. He apologised – which seemed surprising in and of itself – for the fact that she would have to wait. A wish had been made and it was taking longer than expected for the process to play out. It informed her that as soon as the King was available they would be taking her to the Goblin City. Unfortunately, there would have to be some kind of spectacle made of it in order to make the hordes happy. She’d caused a lot of fuss and a simple ‘here you go’ wouldn’t suffice. Well, that was what Sarah made of it all, before crumpling the letter and casting it aside.

What did any of it matter? So she had to spend a few extra hours pacing her rooms and flying between acceptance and panic. What irritated her most from this new message was that she’d have to wait longer to ask what the hell was going on. There was something happening to her that desperately needed explaining.

At first she thought they were dreams.

                _“Ugh, he’s so infuriating I could just – just **bog** him! Bog him for an eternity! Or **two** eternities!”_

_“Careful,” the pair of them said at the same time, eyes meeting across the kitchen table. He looked to his wife with a face that clearly asked ‘who’s going to take this one?’_

_“Honey, remember what we told you about watching your words?” she said aloud, answering the unspoken question between them._

_Clare rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to **wish him away** , if that’s what you’re worried about,” she said exasperatedly, ignoring the panicked startle that the pair of them gave. “I’m just **saying** he might ease up on the torment a little if I –”_

_“We know what you’re saying,” his wife interrupted firmly, laying a hand on their daughter’s arm. “Rory’s been a thorn in your side since middle school.”_

_“He’s been a complete **git** ,” he muttered under his breath, pointedly ignoring his wife’s glare in the wake of Clare’s grateful smile._

_“See, Daddy gets it!” his daughter beamed. “Can’t I just –”_

_“No.”_

_“But what if I just got Ludo to –”_

_“Not a chance.”_

_“Can’t one of the gob –”_

_“Absolutely **not** ,” his wife persisted. “Clare, you can’t use others to solve your problems. You have to learn to fix them on your own.”_

_“Says the one with the all-access pass to fairyland,” Clare grumbled into her spoonful of cereal. “When **was** the last time we had to fix a leaky faucet or go grocery shopping?”_

_He couldn’t help a wry smile at that._

_“You be quiet,” his wife growled._

_“I said nothing, love.”_

_“That’s enough nothing out of you, **darling**.”_

                There were a few things wrong with this theory, of course. The least of which being that she wasn’t always _asleep_ when these scenes flashed through her mind. They came at any time of the day or night. Sometimes when she lay reading the same book again; when she sat in the lukewarm tub waiting for the last bubbles to pop; while she watched the sun making its usual loop across the sky outside her drawing room window. There was not much to do when you locked away waiting to die. She couldn’t help but obsess over the images that overwhelmed her.

                _“What the fuck **happened** to you, mate?”_

_The voice came from the man who’d just appeared in the doorway. He had green eyes, dark hair and a frustrated expression that looked odd on him. He was a friend, someone he’d known for years…but drunk as he was, the name escaped him. Everything escaped him: air from his lungs, thoughts from his brain, the empty bottle from his hand –_

_“Jesus, mate. I leave you alone for a week and look what you do to the place.”_

_“Learned your lesson then?” he drawled in reply, attempting in vain to stand. No, better to sit. The floor would not spin if he just sat there. “’Bout leaving me here all by my lonesome?”_

_“This is pathetic, you know. I thought you were going to get your shit together.”_

_“Yeah well…” he tipped his head back into the couch cushions, closing his eyes against that disappointed glare. “Shows what you know.”_

                The second thing was that they were just too vivid to be her imagination. Clearly not dreams but too fluid to be memories, if Sarah concentrated she could conjure them at will sometimes. The other thing of course was that she wasn’t always necessarily _in_ the visions or even relevant to them.

_“The death of your sister was regrettable but necessary,” Ezra intoned. Oh, how he wished the old bird would just **die**. Why not her? Why not her instead of Lina? “Now our nations can unite in the wake of this tragedy. It must be so, you understand.”_

_He understood nothing anymore. Lina was gone and life meant nothing._

It was obvious that they were visions from Jareth’s perspective. Sometimes they were light and airy, glistening with promise like spring dew. Other times they made her cry so hard she couldn’t breathe. In rare moments of optimism, she was just thankful to have _some_ connection to Jareth. But most of the time Sarah was just confused and frustrated. Lying on the carpet, plucking at a loose thread she glared at her newly un-marked wrist and cursed the horrible freedom it had granted her. She was tempted to feel longing for the old days, where life’s worries had revolved around remembering to put the bins out and feeding the neighbour’s cat. What normal feel like? She didn’t know anymore. The last few months had stripped away normality until she questioned if there was even anything human left to her.

It was understandable that at this point she was starting to crack.

But it wouldn’t do to let them know they’d gotten to her. Not at the very end, after all this time. So Sarah made a decision. She would go to the library and collect her things, no matter that Brynn had told her to stay put. He didn’t _own_ her. Nobody owned Sarah Williams, save for the pieces she chose to give away. Like her heart, to Jareth. Sneaking out the door and down the hall, she entertained the thought of him receiving her heart as inheritance. She pictured it: a small wooden box engraved with poetry delivered by an executor, who would read her last will and testament to Jareth before handing over the heart to him.

_Yep, starting to lose it_ , Sarah thought with a shake of her head. “Focus,” she growled under her breath. Not that she need have worried about being quiet. The Castle was emptier than it had ever been. No little goblins, no Dwarf-goblins, no big lumbering soft-eyed friends with ironically unused fangs. No faintly green men with two souls. The walk to the library was a lonely one. The stone felt cold and isolating beneath her feet, like she was stalking the halls of her own personal prison. Which is exactly what it was, she supposed, except as she reached the library a sense of nostalgia overwhelmed her in a way that real prison could never invoke.

It was just as they’d left it, maps and books and notes scattered across the heavy tables like wayward thoughts. Familiar piles of favourites hummed lightly at her gentle touch, but the sound was distinctly more muted than it had been weeks prior. There was no hidden melody in the air to seek out, only dust and wishes. Hugging herself, Sarah took a moment to sit on the lounge and just breathe. At her feet was a copy of _The Hound of the Baskervilles_ , a bookmark of thinly-wrought silver keeping Jareth’s place. There was little sense in taking it with her for sentimental reasons. She wouldn’t read it and, frankly, there would probably be a lot of books already in the afterlife. Still, as soon as she picked it up Sarah knew there’d be no putting it down again. Its humming was a delicate cadence, barely there but reassuring nonetheless. It felt oddly warm against her skin; she hugged it into her chest and the pendant that felt like Jareth’s fingers trailing down her sternum.

                This time it was, thankfully, her own memory that overwhelmed her:

_He talked in his sleep. It was hard to ignore when the man took naps almost religiously in the library. They were never very long, just snippets to keep him going for the day. But nearly every time Sarah caught murmurs from the Fae lying on the lounge, book discarded beside him. Sometimes they were nonsensical, comments about elephants with wings or soft chuckles followed by ‘dwarf’ or ‘spoon’ or ‘bog’. Other times he seemed almost awake, whispering an entire half of a conversation. It was most often about some kind of Council meeting or community issue, dull topics for a dream. Even fast asleep he looked terribly bored._

_Then there were the few moments she caught him in a nightmare. Twisted expression, jagged teeth showing in a snarl or grimace, knuckles standing out white with the strength of his clenched fists. He only ever spoke in Fae when this happened, so she could only guess at what was plaguing him. The first time she was too startled to react. It was too strange a thing to see this guarded, supposed villain sweating with fear and torment. Thankfully he woke fairly quickly, with a quiet snarl and a bewildered expression on his face. She pretended not to have noticed, head bent low over the table full of books._

_The second time she got up and went to him, sitting on the floor by his head and tentatively resting a hand on his arm. She could feel his tense muscles twitching beneath the sleeve. His eyes rolled beneath closed lids at horrors she could only imagine. At a loss of what to do Sarah picked up the book he’d discarded and began to read it aloud in soothing tones. It was another detective sleuth about murder on a subway line. She’d asked him once why he liked such dull human stories when he lived in a world of fantasy. He’d told her of his fascination for the commonplace lives that people Above lived. It was exactly the opposite of why **she** read, to escape the everyday humanity of life, but flowing through the detective story Sarah had to admit there was a sort of macabre lure to it._ _He began to settle after a few minutes, the tension uncoiling beneath her hand. She was relaxing into the position when he woke with a start, eyes popping open so quickly she froze. He stared at her in surprise and she stared right back. After an awkward moment’s pause, he cleared his throat and she made a hasty retreat to the tables. They said nothing about it._

_In the last few months, as they grew more comfortable together, it became second nature for her to soothe him. He would snatch a quick nap while taking up the length of the lounge, close enough that the ragged edges of his hair brushed against her thigh where she sat. She held a book comfortably in her lap and listened for the sound of his restless breathing. If it came, she slipped a hand into his hair without hesitation, massaging his scalp gently. Once or twice, though she would rather have been bogged than admit it, he wasn’t even dreaming when her fingers found their way into his hair._

                Sarah resurfaced from the memory with a purposeful shake of her head. She’d come here for a reason. Getting to her feet, she folded her sweater into a makeshift knapsack and collected her favourites into an awkward bundle. It was ungainly but satisfying, walking back with the package like a stack of old friends tucked against her. The victory was tiny but did her well: Sarah wiled away the evening by savouring poems line after line, syllable after syllable, until she could recite them by heart: _this is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless; Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done; Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou lovest best. Night, sleep, death and the stars._

 

* * *

 

 

Sarah Williams had given Brynn high expectations of humanity. He’d thought that running the Labyrinth would prove fraught with complications like those Miss Williams had presented on a daily basis. The disappointment was surprising. Where were the barb-tongued wildcats he’d been prepared for? Why did they cower before him so readily when he appeared to grant their wishes? Further still – what drove them to accept his bargain – the wished away for their dreams – so quickly? Sarah Williams hadn’t cowered before him. She’d refused his predecessor’s beguiling tricks throughout her entire journey in the Labyrinth. Without much experience in humanity, Brynn had thought that marking Miss Williams as the standard would see him prepared.

                But the blood of humans spilled more easily than he’d assumed.

                Worse: it was an _annoyance_ , a _distraction_ from what he really needed to do. The longer he spent taunting humans in that maze, the more he could feel his impatience growing. The hordes’ ghastly whispers were ever present in the back of his mind, a demand he didn’t have time to appease. Over and over again they growled and screeched and hissed, always the same words: _King kill her King kill her King kill her._

They would not be truly under his command until he gave them what they wanted. But he couldn’t _do that_ until he could just stop being called away to play the Goblin King for a few hours. He’d have thought this night’s run would finish quickly but not so: twins were involved and one of them had died. The pair of them had wished away a cousin, and so the pair of them were to run the Labyrinth. There was still one left to go. Calling his raven back to report on the human’s progress, Brynn sighed and tried to ignore the pleas in the back of his mind. For that matter, he also tried to ignore the fact that his connection with the goblins was so weak. It should have been stronger, an almost tangible link between his own mind and the creatures he ruled. Yet he suspected the only reason he could even hear their insistent demand was because of the strength of its repetition. If not for the urgency, he’d feel nothing at all from the monsters. Thinking about this only added coal to the fire, so Brynn forced his attention to the task at hand. The time would come when things would be easy, one way or another.

 

* * *

 

 

The only thing he’d managed to get right was the tea.

                Everything else Jareth had touched was in need of repair. The toaster was smoking profusely beneath a singed set of curtains; the stove was unrecognisable beneath a fine spray of detritus from the frying pan; the air reeked of obscenely burnt porridge.

                “How did you think that waving your hands at the fire would put it out?” Con asked in what was surprisingly a rather calm voice, considering he’d just come home from a night shift. Though Jareth was starting to learn that the man had infinite patience and there was very little he could do to make him angry. Whether that was because Con pitied him as a lost man or just genuinely wasn’t bothered by his constant failures, Jareth wasn’t yet certain.

                “I’m sorry, Con,” he offered distantly, staring at his latest attempt at breakfast. “I don’t understand why I can’t do this…”

                Four days after being taken in by the nurse, Jareth was starting to feel like the flat was mocking him. He understood technically what most things were: the stove, the television, the heating…but when he tried to use them he was hopeless. As if he had the information but not the experience. Worse still was that he kept hoping a flurry of his hands would do everything for him.

                “I don’t know if you remember, it _was_ almost four days ago…but you _are_ recovering from amnesia,” Con replied in a gently mocking tone. “You’re going to be a little confused for a while, Jareth.” He eyed the curtains. “Maybe just have cereal until things clear up, yeah? Even _you_ can’t burn cereal.”

                Jareth nodded with a grateful smile though he was still frustrated. Resorting to simple hot water in a saucepan had at least granted them decent cups of tea. He handed one to Con and spooned a single sugar into his own. He kept suffering the thought that humanity was not what he’d expected, or that it lacked something in particular. What that something was, he could never put his finger on. His memory was frustratingly vacuous, vastly blank.

                “I know something that might cheer you up,” Con said brightly, ruffling his tired-looking hair and sniffing cautiously at the tea. “You were talking in your sleep again.”

                “How is that cheerful information?” Jareth replied irritably, sinking into his chair. The kitchen was tiny and the table clung to the edges as if afraid to take up space. He knocked his elbow against the wall and stifled a groan, massaging it. He talked all the time in his sleep, apparently, when Con snuck by his lounge-turned-bed on the way to work. It would be more helpful if he could remember or make sense of even one little part of what he said.

                “I got a name out of you,” Con went on heedlessly, deciding the tea was safe to drink. “You mumbled something about a brother.”

                “A brother?” It rang no bells.

                “Mhmm. Called Toby.”

                “Toby…” Jareth murmured the name, feeling the shape of it, hoping for a spark of memory. “It means nothing to me. I don’t have a brother.”

                “How would you know? You’re a human colander at the moment.”

                “I don’t have a brother,” Jareth repeated. Then, without thinking: “I have a sister.”

                The pair of them blinked in surprise. Jareth froze in the act of sipping his tea, as if keeping still would help snare the memory in his brain. He closed his eyes and tried not to think, to let the thoughts come to him without provocation.

                “Well?” Con murmured after a while.

                “Not a damn thing,” Jareth sniffed, setting down his mug.

                “Give it time.” His companion patted him on the back reassuringly with one hand and stifled a wide yawn with the other. “I’m off to grab a kip. Thanks for the tea but I’m knackered down to my bones.” He stretched and Jareth heard the cracking of his back. “If Nurse Penn ever asks you to ‘help out for just a mo’, you run. You run for the hills.”

                “I’ll remember that,” Jareth replied vaguely, thoughts straying to what he would do for the day. He could easily have spent a few hours reading, if Con’s collection held more than medical texts and war stories. He’d tried to occupy time with them but the clinical texts and bloody tales had made him feel impossibly old and sick of the macabre. What he felt like was fresh air, bright skies…but a walk through London suburbs would have to do. He told Con this plan and was met with the usual cheerful warning not to get lost, followed by another yawn as he shuffled off to bed. They worked on Jareth’s memory and recovering his identity in between Con’s work shifts. Things were progressing less than slowly.

                Jareth sighed. The tea was nice. At least he’d made the tea. He told himself this while pouring out a bowl of cereal, glowering at the overly-bright packaging that boasted something about fibre. He glanced at the mess in the kitchen and then back at the bowl.

                “I dare you to catch fire,” he grumbled at it, returning to the table. “I bloody dare you.”

 

* * *

 

 

Having her descendant put on the Labyrinth Throne had granted Ezra certain rights, or so the woman seemed to think. While the Elder had rarely ever shown humility before, now she was absolutely painful to share company with. Through the decades Mira had learnt how to handle her but today she was in too much pain for patience.

                Ezra had been needling her about the broken vow for hours now. “You know it was a foolish thing you did,” she said in the voice one would use on a wayward child. “Promises aren’t made to be broken on a whim, Mira El’Maven.”

                The fact that Ezra had no actual clue just _what_ Mira had promised didn’t deter her at all. She was adamant that the Queen concede her mistake in bargaining with lower species. Anything to gain an ounce of power, to bring a flush of meekness to Mira’s complexion.

                There was no such chance. The only red staining her cheeks was borne of brittle anger. Mira had been racked with agony since the moment she broke the vow, flushed with a prickling heat that left her too afraid to stand for fear of falling. She sat in a wooden chair heavily adorned with violets that stretched towards the sunlight. The fact that she’d refused counsel all day in favour of remaining in her private rooms meant little to Ezra. The woman had been bothering her since breakfast.

                “I know of remedies for the pain,” the Elder continued. “If you would just tell me the nature of the broken promise, I could ascertain how to reverse the affects.”

                “I’m _fine_ ,” Mira bit out through clenched teeth, pressing a clammy hand to her burning forehead. She was far from it. Her heart was pounding wildly; her skin crawled with heat and ice and a wild itching; sounds were magnified until her head ached with the volume of the tiniest noises. “If I could just have a moment to myself…” It was difficult to speak without wincing at the vibration of her own voice. “You may go, Ezra.”

                “A potion or two,” the Elder persisted as if she hadn’t spoken. “A spell woven for the itch, you would feel such relief –”

                “Out! Now!” Mira spat, losing all patience. Lights flicked in the corner of her eyes at the volume of the words. She pressed a hand to her forehead and took a shaky breath, afraid to say anymore.

                Indignation radiated from Ezra in waves. “I’ll send an Elf with a tonic for you,” she said flatly. “Even without clear knowledge of the pain’s source it should be of some help.” Her tone clearly said what she thought of being refused the information.

                Mira nodded silently in reply, mouth compressed into a thin line of discomfort. She heard a rustle of fabric but kept her eyes closed as Ezra stalked away, no doubt with a glare hard enough to shake stone. Left in peace at last, Mira tilted her head back against her chair and sighed. Her relief at the silence was short lived. Being alone seemed only to focus Mira’s attention on the torment, the quiet of the room magnifying the dreadful sensations coursing through her. _It’s nothing you can’t handle. You are a **Queen**. You do what must be done and suffer with gratitude for the opportunity to rule. _ Logical as the thoughts were they did nothing to stem the wave of feverish heat that washed over her. They couldn’t stop her teeth from chattering so hard that she bit her tongue; didn’t assuage the feelings of being thrown violently about while sitting still. She huddled into the chair, arms limp at her sides and head aching where it rested on the wooden back.

It was almost a relief to hear a knock on the door a short while later.

“Enter,” she called, or at least _assumed_ she did. The world seemed a muddled place made up of only two things: pain and disorientation.

Something green appeared at her side. An Elf holding out a silver tray. “Lady Ezra sent me with your tonic, Ma’am,” it said in quavering tones.

They were always afraid of her, the Elves, even though the Servant Self was constructed to be emotionally neutral. The glass trembled against the tray as it wobbled in the Elf’s hands. Mira wanted to snap something about not dropping the whole thing but didn’t have the strength. It was all she could do just to reach for the tonic and even then the glass felt impossibly heavy. She struggled so much that a pair of faintly green hands wrapped around hers and lifted the glass to her lips. The tonic was light and cool but very bitter; she drank with grim determination.

“Drink all of it. Don’t waste a drop,” said the unsteady voice. There was something odd about the tone. She might have been able to put a word to it if there weren’t green hands pushing the glass with increasing pressure against her mouth, urging her to drink more. She shot a warning glare up at the Elf and was met with an expression that made sense of the strangeness in the voice. The Elf wasn’t shaking with fear; it wasn’t nerves making her words shaky. The opalescent face of the dark eyed servant was nearly white with cold fury. The open hatred in that look made Mira choke on the last drops of tonic. She coughed and spluttered, feebly knocking the glass away so that it shattered on the ground in a spray of awful diamonds.

                The Elf was smiling.

                Furious questions swam through the fog but didn’t make it to the surface. Mira could say nothing as a dead weight dragged her deep under water, filling her thoughts with lead. She sagged forward and was caught in a fast and vicious hold by the Elf, who gripped her hair and pulled it back so that Mira was forced to look up at her.

                “My people have suffered for the sake of yours for so long that I grew up almost accepting it,” she said in a deadly calm voice. She had stopped shaking now. “Ours is a lifestyle I have always begrudged you, but it is difficult to start a rebellion with half of my people wearing the wrong souls. I may have gone my whole life without taking serious issue.” The hand in Mira’s hair tightened painfully. “But I will _never_ stand by and let my own blood be attacked. It is too much to ask that I allow that.”

                Mira drew in ragged breaths. She didn’t fall asleep but nor was she completely conscious. The only thing keeping her upright was the Elf’s hand in her hair. She rolled her eyes towards the door, hoping for a sign of help. And then something happened that would’ve chilled her bones had she been on fire. The Elf reached into Mira’s mind and touched her magic. It was a violation so severe the creature’s family would be punished through generations. And yet it should have been impossible. The Queen’s powers were infallibly guarded by the deepest wards – the combination of a broken vow and whatever had been in that tonic must have stripped away her defences.

                “You will right more than one wrong today, Mira El’Maven,” the Elf growled.

Then, inside Mira’s mind, at the very edge of her consciousness, came a demand. _Make a gateway._

                So the Elf had gotten through her defences but couldn’t touch the source? It was enough to make Mira smile, however weakly. _A gateway._ The demand was stronger, reaching through Mira to grasp at the magic inside her. She was being used as a vessel. Mira did nothing. If this was the only control she had left she was not going to relinquish it.

                The Elf raised a knife and dragged it down Mira’s cheek, setting her face aflame with agony.  “A g _ateway_ ,” she said aloud, pressing the blade to her other cheek. “Or you will learn how it feels to be Severed in a very literal way.”

                Stripped of power and physical strength, worn down by poison and broken vows, Mira felt that second slice like she was about to be decapitated. On the tail end of a silent scream she found the strength to utter a single word: “Where?”

The Elf had a nasty look on her face. “To the Castle beyond the Goblin City.”

 

* * *

 

 

_It was almost too easy to be enjoyed, but that didn’t stop him from doing his best. One more wrong turn and she would be his, indebted to him in a way that could never be paid off. Jareth’s expression become one of sinful delight, brow arched spectacularly and eyes twinkling with amusement._

_“Well, precious? How will you proceed from here?”_

_“I’m…” she faltered, weighing up her options though they both knew she was trapped. There was nowhere to go that wouldn’t see her owing him one thing or another. He adored the expressions she made when backed into a corner, all hard eyes and wet lips, tense as a wildcat. “I’m…” she looked down. She looked up. It would all be over soon. He grinned._

_So did she. And then she flipped the Monopoly board right over._

_“What!” he exclaimed, wincing at the shower of pewter, paper and plastic that rained down on them both. “That wasn’t an option, Sarah!”_

_Her laugh was pure as sunlight. “Then how did I manage to do it?” she asked innocently. “I must have defied the laws of possibility.”_

_“You defied **me** ,” he sulked, eyeing the remains of what had been his wonderful kingdom. _

_“Oh come on,” she crawled across the carpet and chuckled, affectionately picking the little bowler hat from his hair. “It’s just a game.”_

_“But I was **winning** ,” Jareth complained half-heartedly as she straddled his lap on the floor. He had to admit that having Sarah’s mouth on his neck and hands on his chest didn’t exactly feel like losing. “I suppose it’s my own fault for assuming you’d fight fair.”_

_“All’s fair in love and war,” she murmured against his lips. She smelt like dust from the carpet and rain from their walk earlier. There was a faded bruise at her hairline where she’d bumped into the kitchen cabinet and a smudge of ink on her shirt. It was these little observations that he lived every day for._

_“But not in Monopoly, apparently.” He drew his lips back, a reprimand for spoiling the game, before throwing away all pretence and –_

Sarah was startled out of the vision by something big and awkward stumbling out of her mirror in the candlelight. Half-asleep and disoriented, she was upset at being pulled away from the loving scene she’d been enjoying. With a tired mumble she sat up and looked toward the thing clambering down from her vanity desk.

                “Wick?” she called uncertainly, nerves dragging her into consciousness. “Is that you?”

                The figure grunted in reply and dumped something on the floor – some _one,_ Sarah realised as light flooded the room with a thought from her. The visitor turned out be to Keel, which wasn’t exactly pleasing as much as it was surprising.

                “Keel, what are you – who’s tha – oh my god.” Hands clapped to her mouth, Sarah stared in horror at the person lying semi-conscious on her bedroom carpet. There was no mistaking the Fae Queen even if she _was_ hazy-eyed and slack-jawed. Afraid to stand too close, Sarah shook her head at the woman’s limp body and unresponsive expression. Her eyes widened at the gashes down her cheeks. “Keel…what the hell did you _do_?”

                The Elf sniffed and eyed Sarah heatedly, as if deciding whether she’d made a wise intrusion. “I took action,” she snapped, though there was more than anger in her expression. Was it a touch of something irrational? Fear that she’d gone too far?

                “No shit!” Sarah replied. “Why did you – how did you even – did you _drug_ her?”

                “It’s her own fault,” the Elf said coldly. “If she hadn’t broken that promise then she could have fought back.”

                Sarah’s eyes flicked to her own wrist. “You mean this? She broke the vow and it – it what, made her comatose?”

                “It put her in a significant amount of pain.” Keel started to move through the bedroom with a sense of purpose, apparently looking for something. “So much so that I was able to feed her a potion that would allow me access to her magic.”

                Her head was swimming. “You stole her powers too? Please tell me I’m dreaming this. I never signed up for this kind of fairy crap.”

                “I didn’t _steal_ them; they are still hers.” Keel was searching through the wardrobe, pulling out pants and shirts and sweaters at random. “I just removed the wards so I could use the Fae magic _through_ her. It was necessary.”

                “Necessary for _what_?”

                “Bringing her here. And for what we’re about to do.”

                “We? Hold on, Keel, this isn’t – this is abduction! And probably treason, and you’re going to get yourself killed –”

                “The only death tonight will be _hers_ ,” the Elf spat, kneeling down with a bundle of Sarah’s clothes in her arms. She lay them down and started to sort through them, apparently for things that would fit the Queen.

                 Sarah turned cold at her words. Facing her own death was one thing, facing murder… “This isn’t right. You can’t just go around drugging Queens and –”

                “Do you want to argue about morality or do you want to escape?”

                “…escape?”

                The Queen was too tall for any of Sarah’s pants. Keel settled on a long violet dress and a jacket a few sizes too big. “Yes,” she said, “Now be quiet for a moment.” She laid the clothing over the Fae’s body and then closed her eyes. The Queen twitched, eyes rolling, mouth turned down in a frown. And then just like that she was wearing the dress and jacket. It looked ridiculous not just for the mismatched outfit but for the pale regal body it clung to. Keel unceremoniously stuffed a pair of clunky sandals onto the Fae’s feet.

                “What the hell,” Sarah asked quietly, forcing patience on herself, “Are you doing?”

                “It’s not enough for her to have your face. It must be believable.” Keel closed her eyes again.

                “But she _doesn’t_ look –” she broke off in a gasp. Another twitch from the Queen, a deeper frown, and Sarah was looking at _herself_ lying on the carpet. Well, a less detailed version: there were no faded freckles down the line of her neck, no tiny scar on her forehead where she’d hit the kitchen cabinet one day. It was a Sarah seen through the eyes of someone not overly familiar with her, but it would fool anybody not intimate with her body. “What…” she shook her head, mouth wide open. “What.”

                Keel sat back on her heels, apparently satisfied. She met Sarah’s gaze with a sharp, purposeful expression. “The hordes want Sarah Williams,” she said with a little too much eagerness. “We will give her to them.” And then she stood and took a firm grip of Sarah’s arm, closing her eyes as the Queen gave a significant shudder and pained groan. At the same time a deep-winter kind of chill swept over Sarah like a wind and she forgot the protests she’d been about to make. Keel opened her eyes and scrutinised Sarah. “More correctly, _you_ will give her to them, your Majesty,” she said darkly.

                Something bright shimmered in the corner of her eye. Sarah turned to see her reflection in the mirror and jumped in shock. The frosty-haired, pale skinned face of the Queen stared back at her, garbed in the flowing pastel blue dress she’d been wearing when they arrived. Keel must have spent a lot of time loathing this woman to know her so well. The details in this face were much more accurate, from the markings that covered half of it to the anger in the eyes, which Sarah was doing a good job of emanating. “Why are you doing this?” she murmured, tugging agitatedly at a lock of ivory hair. “You had her drugged and in pain at the Palace; you could have killed her there and then. This…” she tore her gaze away from the stranger in the mirror and implored the Elf to see reason. “This is insane, Keel. Can’t we just scare her or something?”

                “Mira El’Maven has held her position for so long because she upholds the law with no emotion.” Keel’s voice was quiet but powerful; she was a woman in her own kind of pain. “She sees in black and white but leaves a trail of red behind her. She described the death of her step-sister as ‘necessary’. When the King died of poison meant for her, she showed no remorse. The Elf that her daughter loved was executed without trial. She arranged the death of her own son in order to maintain leadership, Severed my cousin for being in the wrong place at the wrong time and now she’s going to hand you over to the hordes even though she made a vow promising the opposite.” Her hands were tight fists pressed against her sides, trembling. “This Fae is –”

                “I know what she is,” Sarah interrupted, tentatively laying a hand on the Elf’s shoulder. “I know what she’s done. But we aren’t like them, Keel. You, me, Wick…we aren’t Fae.” She thought of Jareth that night in the Castle, broken, of the blood on his hands and in his heart. “Do you think you could live with the fact that you’d murdered someone?”

                “I will watch as she is ripped apart by the creatures she claims control over,” Keel said, jutting out her chin defiantly. “I am not a Fae but I am not human either. I am an Elf and this is my chance to change life for my people.” To Sarah’s surprise, she actually unfurled a fist and laid it over Sarah’s hand on her shoulder. “Which, incidentally, is also why I’m doing it this way. I want to thank you.”

                Sarah blinked. “Thank me?”

                “I could have killed her the moment she drank my potion. But my cousin and your companions made me realise that no matter the trouble you’ve caused and the pain you’ve brought to my family…you being here, in our world, started the chain of events that has led to this moment. A moment where I am able to do something to help my people. If Mira dies then her daughter takes the Throne, who has been an advocate for Elvish rights since she was young. It wouldn’t have been possible without you, Sarah Williams.”

                It was one moral dilemma after another. She didn’t want to have to weigh up the pros and cons of committing murder. “You’re standing there thanking me for going through all this shit so that can you can kill someone,” she murmured, taking her hand away.

                “And I am thanking you by saving your life, Sarah. Is your life not worth saving?”

                How could she answer no to that? She’d calculated the benefits of her death, had spent hours crying and being angry and telling herself it would be better for everyone. But this was a way out she hadn’t anticipated, a way to help Wick and get back Above and possibly find Jareth. This was a last chance. It was just that the way through was splattered with blood.

                With a bitter tear in her eye Sarah nodded. “Fine,” she whispered. “I’ll do it.”

                Keel didn’t smile, nor did she make any attempts to comfort Sarah or apologise. She just thanked her.

                “Don’t,” Sarah said angrily, looking morbidly at the version of herself on the floor. “Don’t ever thank me for this. Let’s just get it over with.”

               

* * *

 

 

Somewhere in the backwaters of the hordes’ collective consciousness there was a change in the broadcast. It stopped being a strained connection and started feeling like a command to gather. The string that tied them to the leader was growing in strength. All throughout the City goblins stirred and shifted restlessly, following the pull that drove them toward the City Centre. _KingkillherKingkillherKingkillherKingkillher_. Their mantra never stopped. Teeth gnashed, tails and claws gouging grooves into the cracked stones with their excitement.

                The leader was pleased and so were they.

 

* * *

 

 

The thing that rushed by Con and wrapped itself around Jareth’s middle was scruffy and smelled like dirt, but Jareth was pleased to see it. It was lanky and knobbly and hugged him with the ineffectual strength of a young boy.

                Christopher had found him, and he was wonderfully happy about it.

                “Found him in the emergency room pestering the admin staff about you,” Con explained with a grin. “I couldn’t very well just leave the poor lad in the dark.”

                Jareth beamed. It was a strange twitch of muscles; it felt underused on his face. “What happened to you?” he asked as the boy was swallowed by a sudden shyness and pried himself off.

                “Dad,” Christopher explained with an annoyed frown. He continued on in a ramble without pause for breath. “I called home from the hospital the day you fainted to get help from Mum but Dad answered and I can’t lie to Dad, he makes me nervous and I told him everything, he was really cross, he came and got me and told me I wasn’t allowed out for a week except for school and I’m sorry Jareth I didn’t mean to leave you on your own.”

                “It’s perfectly fine super boy,” Jareth reassured him earnestly. “Take a breath.” Something strange overcame him and he spoke next with an odd feeling that the words weren’t his own: “I’m just happy to see you again.” He meant it, he really did – but green and black flickered in the back of his mind and he itched with unease.

                “You all right your Majesty?” Con enquired, noting his suddenly muted expression.

                “Didn’t quite feel like myself for a moment,” Jareth replied with a shrug. “I’m fine.”

                “Are you still sick?” Christopher asked without waiting for answer. “How’s your hand? Is it all nasty? Can I see it? Have you remembered that you’re a super hero yet?”

                “Super hero?” Con raised a brow.

                “That’s what we’re here to test,” Jareth told the boy, ignoring Con’s amused smirk. “Con brought me to the hospital so we can see the doctors and do some exercises for my memory. Today might well be the day we find out how much of a hero I am,” he added with a wink.

The boy smiled but Jareth felt no real optimism. The more days that flew by, the more he started to feel like he’d been cut right out of some other life and dropped here with a blank slate. The things he tried to recover remained as out-of-reach as ever. Dreams and nightmares continued to confuse him but he’d made no more sense out of them since his first days. He kept going through the motions with Con just to fill the time, all the while suspecting he was doomed to a fresh start that felt inexplicably empty.

                When he tried to fathom the hollowness that had started to gnaw at him he thought of only one thing: a woman shrouded in green and black.

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m just happy to see you again,” Sarah cried, overcome with pleasure at the foul smell of his ragged coat. “I don’t care if you can’t breathe; just let me hug you!”

                The goblin grumbled something half-heartedly into her dress, the rest of his embarrassed protests dying on his tongue. Ludo, Wick and Didymus suffered the same afterwards, though only Wick seemed truly uncomfortable compared to Hoggle’s weak complaints.

                “That’s enough now,” Keel spoke up sharply. “The Queen of the Fae Domain shouldn’t smell like goblins.”

                Sarah reluctantly put Didymus down and brushed off her dress. Her friends kept forgetting themselves in the wake of her new appearance and would start to bow or shy away when she looked at them. Being hugged avidly by the Fae Queen seemed to have unsettled them even more.

                “You need to start acting the part,” the Elf chastised her further. “You are a royal in pain and need to remember that.”

                “I _know_ ,” Sarah snapped. “I’m not an idiot Keel. Excuse me for being happy that I didn’t get my friends killed.”

                “Of course yer didn’t get us killed,” Hoggle said. “What made yer think that?”

                “I didn’t see what happened to you,” she replied. “Brynn stabbed me and I woke up in the Castle –”

                “The scoundrel shall pay dearly for that!” Didymus shrieked indignantly. “To think we were safely tucked away while our dearest Lady was in terrible danger, I cannot ever forgive myself!”

                “Well you need to,” Keel told him. “We cannot afford to be revealed by an imp who can’t control his need for vengeance.” She swept her commanding gaze over Hoggle and Ludo. “The same applies to the both of you. You are to remain here, out of sight, until we return for you.”

                “And if – if we don’t come back,” Sarah added hesitantly, “Then you run. Got that guys? Just run away from the Castle and find some place to live in peace. There’s got to be somewhere that you can stay without causing too much trouble.”

                “If you do not return, I will not be held responsible for my actions, Lady Sarah,” Didymus replied sombrely. Ludo rubbed his ruddy great head against her arm, much to Keel’s disapproval.

                Sarah met Hoggle’s eyes and said nothing. The _should you need us_ was clear as day in his expression but they both knew she’d never call them to their deaths.

 

* * *

 

 

Brynn would never show it but inside he was absurdly pleased. 

                The wishes had stopped and the Queen had summoned him to the Council Chambers to discuss Sarah Williams. Things were coming to a head. The mantra in the back of his mind was still there but he could feel – however faintly – the hordes gathering in the City Centre. _It’s time_ , he thought with relief, striding down the hall towards the Chambers. Even a Fae couldn’t help feeling relieved when the threat of violent rebellion was about to be extinguished.

                He stood outside the anteroom waiting to be announced, but no servant came. There were voices coming from the room so he knew he was in the right place. Hesitating, he cleared his throat and stepped through the vine-covered archway into the Chambers. The Queen sat in her chair glaring at an Elf who stood over the body of Sarah Williams. The sight surprised him but he simply bowed and moved forward to kiss the royal hand. He couldn’t help noting a tremor in her frame as he stood back, hands linked behind him. She sank into the seat once more, holding a hand to her face. He’d heard that she’d broken a vow, but she looked to be handling it quite well.

                “Your Majesty,” he said politely, casting a look around the room. “I can’t help noting there are no Council members here. May I ask if we are waiting on them?”

                “We wait for no one,” Mira told him shortly. Her voice was heavier than usual. She gestured at the body on the floor. “I thought you would ask about the girl, Brynn.”

                “I’m sure you have your reasons for procuring her from my Castle,” he answered smoothly. “But I will admit I rather think the hordes would have preferred a live sacrifice.”

                “She’s not dead,” she snapped. “It was necessary to tranquilise the girl. She was hysterical.”

                “Ah,” he nodded. “Indeed, hysteria is typical of humanity’s reaction to death.”

                Mira’s hands tightened on the arms of the chair but she said nothing.

                “Are you all right, Ma’am? I heard –”

                “I’m fine,” she interrupted tersely. “I’m tired of all this. Make the broadcast to the hordes, Brynn. I want – I want them ready.”

                He did as he was told. The connection with the goblins was still frustratingly tenuous but he made sure the message was clear. _Your ruler is coming. Sarah Williams is coming. Gather in the City. You will be given your rightful prize._

“Is it done?” Mira asked impatiently.

                “Yes, your Majesty.”

                She gestured with a shaking hand at the floor. “Then take her and go.” She paused. “The Elf will help you.”

                He raised a brow in surprise. “You – you aren’t attending, Ma’am?” Though she lifted her chin and directed a defiant stare at him, Brynn felt compelled to argue. “Your Majesty, with all due respect, this is a _vitally_ important moment of reparation. Your presence –”

                “Is not necessary,” she cut in firmly with a quick glance at the Elf, who had paused in the act of gathering up the girl to stare back at the Queen.

                “She is the girl who ruined my predecessor’s reputation,” Brynn persisted. “She is the one who brought turmoil and danger to the Domain where there had been none for decades. She has planted rebellion and corruption in the minds of every subject she’s met. Sarah Williams will die, your Majesty, and I really think you should be there to see it unfold.”

                Again Mira looked to the Elf for just a second. If he hadn’t known any better he’d say she had the look of a cornered woman, but he couldn’t understand why.

                “Fine,” she bit out at last, smoothing a hand down her dress. She did not look angry at being argued with; she looked worried. “I’ll attend with you.”

                He conjured a gateway to the City and, stooping, hauled the girl into his arms. She hung limp against him, eyes rolling occasionally, mouth twitching in a frown. They must have given her something powerful. Up close she was fairly pretty for a human, but he had no room for regret. Again, the surge of relief swept through him like a feeling akin to exhilaration. _It’s time_ , he thought once more. _Control and order. No more will chaos reign._ With a bow of his head Brynn stood aside from the mirror and waited for the Queen to step through.

She took a moment to gather herself, fingers clutched in the silk of her dress as she stood and walked towards the mirror. The gateway opened onto a raised platform in the City Centre, high enough that the goblins couldn’t reach them. Mira stepped onto it unflinchingly and Brynn followed, with the Elf trailing silently behind. They stood in the middle of the stone platform, which was wide enough for ten of them to stand comfortably. It hung in the air with no visible support, dead in the centre of a decaying array of buildings.

They were deafened by the roar of thousands of goblins.

The hordes stretched out below them in endless numbers, screeching and chittering and shrieking with anticipation. They clung to rooftops and lampposts, packed the crooked streets with their rank and filth, fought over space directly beneath the platform. Here the connection was stronger than it had ever been. Their cries were amplified across the Centre and through his mind: _KingkillherKingkillherKingkillher._ It almost sounded as if they wanted _him_ to do the honour, but Brynn thought it unlikely. The goblin vocabulary was limited. He turned to the Queen, awaiting her next move.

Wind tainted by goblin stink picked at her dress and whirled it around her ankles. She fisted her hands tightly in the silk and glared down at the hordes, avoiding his gaze. Brynn waited patiently, for all his eagerness to be done with it. She was suffering for the broken vow, after all. It was obvious in the strange way she was acting. The girl started to twitch in his arms, distracting him. He walked forward and held her at the edge of the platform. The hordes were a roiling storm of lather and adrenaline, waiting, just _waiting_. He could taste their hunger in the back of his mind.

Mira moved to stand beside him and a hush fell over the goblins quicker than thought. “We give you Sarah Williams,” she called, voice echoing across the Centre. Brynn blinked down at the creatures. Were some of them actually _bowing_? Goblins had never seemed to hold much respect for any ruler but their own. A Goblin ruler was all-powerful, with the right relationship. To see them looking up at the Queen, and then dipping their heads in apparent subservience…it was unsettling. Turning his gaze back to Mira, Brynn expected more than her simple announcement. Behind her the Elf was murmuring under her breath, eyes closed tightly.

The girl thrashed in his arms. He thought he caught a murmured ‘please’ before her eyes snapped open and she screamed.

The hordes were silent. The Elf’s voice carried on the wind. Mira stared down at the creatures below.

With her scream filling the air, Brynn dropped Sarah Williams into the City.

 

 


	14. Face the Strange: Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update! And a bit faster than last time! I was going to wait until I added a bit more to this one but I realised it was almost ten days since last updating and couldn't let you guys wait any longer! So this is not quite as long as the usual updates, but it's a two-parter because it's going to be a bit involved and then next part shouldn't be too far away.  
> Far out time moves fast, I have been writing solidly every night since last updating and just don't seem to get anywhere fast enough! (P.S I just booked tickets to go to DAVID BOWIE IS!!! Awww yeah! It's not being exhibited in my hometown so I have to fly one state over but I turned it into a cheap two-day holiday, totally worth it. Will probably be the closest I'll ever get to anything David ever touched, since I doubt he'll ever tour again.)

**Face the Strange: Part One**

There was a time when the goblins feared and respected their old King.

                He was a brutal man, not only for the shadows and anger they felt inside him but for the _resentment_ that he felt, for _them_. Still, King Jareth fed them well. King Jareth played according to the rules. He did this for nearly two centuries.

                Until the girl came.

                Then King Jareth went soft. He started to cheat. He cheated _them_ , his own subjects. He punished them for doing what came naturally: feeding. They were banished for eating the Halflings. They started to question their fear and respect for him after that.

                They started to think about the girl and what it was doing to their once-valued leader. They were filled with outrage as they were stripped of rights and prizes and freedom at every turn. They rebelled against this softening creature, this pale-faced two-legged thing that was powerless against a little human. Even when he did the right thing and offered to stand down they were denied the sight of his rolling head.

                Because the girl interrupted. Because the girl tricked King Jareth, leaving him worse than dead: she took his future, the possibilities of his years, his magic, and sent him mortal into the oblivion of the Other Place. The hordes considered all this and came to a conclusion. The girl was more dangerous than any leader they’d ever had, more insidious than the black-haired man who foolishly tried to rule them now.

                And so they wanted her for the job.

 

* * *

 

 

In her life Mira hadn’t been afraid of many things. She’d faced too much from a young age to remain sensitive to danger. Besides that, she’d often found that it wasn’t difficult to bend people and creatures to her will. There was always a way to get things done the way she needed them to be.

                But she was not that iron-willed Fae now. She put the borrowed face of Sarah Williams to shame, screaming with it the way she did.

The fall itself wasn’t frightening; she wasn’t worried by the rushing wind and the sickening drop in her stomach. It was the _voices_. The Elf’s damning, justice-seeking words whispered in the back of her mind as if she were handing down a sentence. Memories that weren’t hers made her want to weep tears she didn’t feel: images of Elves bound and gagged, of green bodies stacked high, of flames and fighting and souls being split and the absolute _misery_ of losing the battle. _This is what you’ve done, what you’ve upheld and supported for hundreds of years. This is what I fight for. This is why I stain my hands with your blood, Mira El’Maven._

On top of this were the hideous threats of the creatures waiting below.

_We will tear and strip and devour, oh the Fae meat at its best, such flavour, such an important one, yum yum yum –_

How did they know who she was? There was little time to wonder as an image of that smiling Elf above flashed in her mind, and the agony of her broken promise was renewed a hundredfold. Needles and fire and a surging motion like her brain being ripped out through her mouth. The numbness wore off, filling her with infinite pain.

                All this in a heartbeat before she hit the stones and felt bones shatter. Even Fae bodies could be damaged by a fall such as that. The voices were snuffed out; all sound was muted. Mira was nothing more than a vessel of pure torturous suffering, without name or title or memory. She lay that way for a moment, unable to even contemplate moving, before something wet dripped onto her cheek and she dragged her eyes upwards. A slathering beast with crimson eyes and a wide jaw stood drooling over her. She saw death in its expression. Mira closed her eyes against the horrible face, willing herself to die before it could sink its teeth in.

                But life was unfair – or very fair, depending on the perspective – and creatures snatched at her from all sides and she felt every second of it.

 

* * *

 

 

Sarah wouldn’t forget the sound of that scream for as long as she lived.

                It made her hair stand on end and her stomach twist into knots; she struggled with the idea that she was going to watch herself die. The Queen hit the stones with a sickening crack and Sarah covered her eyes with a muffled groan. Keel kept murmuring under her breath. Brynn seemed a statue, peering down in silence at the scene below. She wasn’t supposed to be here! Not just for the fact that she’d be exposed for her real self soon enough, but because there was no way Sarah would sleep at night after watching the Queen be devoured. Again she thought of the shadows in Jareth’s eyes and how they’d come to be there. Well, this was a mark on _her_ soul that she wouldn’t allow.

She snuck a look either side of her – at the Fae stoic and blank, and the Elf trembling with vindictive satisfaction. It wasn’t their skin colour or their markings or the monsters below that distanced Sarah from them – it was their total lack of regret. She’d never felt so alone in her life, and being alone with another person’s blood on her hands was terrifying.

                “Stop them,” she murmured suddenly, before the goblins had even touched the Queen. “We have to stop them.”

                Brynn blinked at her. “Your Majesty?”

                Keel shot her a warning look that went ignored.

                “I said stop them,” she said louder, more desperate than commanding. Below came an awful popping sound followed by a gut-wrenching scream. Not daring to look, Sarah shook Brynn’s arm. “Take me down there!” she snapped. “I want this to _stop_!”

                “But –”

                “I said _now_!” she growled, though they remained frustratingly on the platform.

                “Your Majesty,” Brynn said quietly, looking concerned for the first time since she’d met him. “They _have_ stopped. Look.”

                He was right. Every single goblin was staring up at her uncertainly. Thousands of eyes glittered expectantly, ears dropped back, tails low. As if they were – were what? Afraid? Steeling herself, Sarah glanced at the Queen. She was still intact, though looking worse for wear being held aloft by a pack of goblins. “They’re not listening to me,” she insisted. “They can’t be. That’s impossible.”

                “Perhaps the Queen of the Fae Domain has more hold over the hordes than we suspected, Ma’am,” Brynn muttered without taking his eyes from the beasts.

                “I guess so,” Sarah muttered idly, losing all grip on pretence. She took a few steps to the left and watched as the eyes followed her silently. She stepped back and they followed again. “Well. Good.” Clearing her throat, Sarah raised her voice and tried to imbue it with a strength she didn’t quite feel. “Release her,” she commanded. “Release the girl. There’s been a mistake.”

                To the surprise of everyone on the platform, the goblins obeyed.

                They dropped the Queen gracelessly onto the stones, like dogs being told to drop their chew toys. Unhappy snickers echoed through the City but none of the creatures moved. At a hard look from Sarah, Brynn vanished and appeared on the ground, gathering the broken Queen into his arms before returning to the platform. More titters rang out through the crowd but still no creatures moved a muscle. Unnerved by the silence, Sarah drew her attention to the woman lying at her feet.

                She was still vaguely in disguise but details were starting to flicker. The skin turned paler with each ragged breath the unconscious woman took. The hair was starting to lighten. Sarah and Keel knelt by her head, exchanging pointed glances. The Elf was furious with her, sharp-eyed as ever and visibly grinding her teeth. Sarah refused to let herself be intimidated, returning that hard stare. Surely the damage had been done, the lesson learnt, without ripping Mira apart completely? She was scratched and clawed and bruised, blood dripping in a thick trickle from her nose. Her eyes were rimmed with violently blue circles, one arm dislocated and more than a few bones broken. She would have a hard time surviving _this_ , let alone the goblins.

                “Why?” Keel whispered, barely loud enough for even Sarah to hear. Her hands were trembling where they rested on her knees.

                “I just couldn’t,” Sarah replied equally as quietly. Then, in a louder voice: “I’m sorry Brynn, I have to –”

                “No!” Keel roared suddenly, knocking Sarah flat on her back.

                Dazed, she rolled over just in time to see Mira with Keel’s knife, the pair of them wrestling for control. Thick blue blood streamed from a wound in Keel’s side but she showed no sign of weakness as Elf and Fae became a tangle of limbs. They rolled toward the edge of the platform. Sarah threw herself at them and took hold of Keel’s arm but the weight was too much, it was too late – Queen and servant went tumbling over the ledge. Sarah refused to let go, would have let herself be dragged down too if something hadn’t wrenched her hand free and pinned her to the stone. With the wind knocked out of her Sarah’s scream was no more than a rough gasp as there was another sickening crack below, this time twice as heavy. Peering over the ledge, she just had time to see the Queen rolling off Keel’s dead body before she was – and there was no other way to describe it – _consumed_.

                Even stuffing her fingers into her ears didn’t block the screams. Flesh was torn as easily as paper, bones crunched and squelched over the chanting of the goblins:

                _No no no, you don’t touch the King Killer, not our King Killer, yum yum we have you now –_

Tears streaming down her face, Sarah buried her cheek against the cold stone of the platform and wept. _I’m so sorry Keel. I’m so sorry_. It was her fault. If she hadn’t tried to do the right thing…

                “You seem to be one of a kind, Sarah Williams.”

                “So what,” she sniffed, blinking away tears. “That just means I’m alone.”

                “It means you are unique. And possibly important enough to save us all, yourself included.”

                She realised who she was talking to. Sitting up, she found Brynn kneeling beside her with a strange expression. He must have been the one to stop her falling over the edge, yet his face betrayed a complicated mix of anger and curiosity. Sarah had no room left for fear. Not after everything that had happened. “Why did you save me?” she asked blankly. “Your Queen’s dead because of me.”

                He seemed to struggle visibly for a moment. Where was the stoicism of earlier? “Yes, she is. And I would have let you fall, had I not thought it a pointless action.”          

                “What do you mean?”

                “There’s something about you that the goblins are responding to. I don’t think they’d have harmed you, had you fallen.”

                Sarah raised a sceptical brow, but at his expression she made herself look down – at the goblin eyes staring up, waiting, still uncertain. Staring at her. “Why me?”

                “I’ve been wondering that same thing since you first came to the Domain.” Brynn’s thoughtful grey eyes looked around at the creatures below. His brow was crinkled with several unnameable emotions. “I’m a man of logic and practicality, yet all I can conclude is that it was in the Fates’ Design for you to enter our world. You’ve always shown the potential to be something more than human, Miss Williams. And now, that’s what you’ve become.”

                “How am I any more than what I am?” Sarah asked in confusion. “I’m sick of all this mystic crap. Explain to me why the hell those creatures are looking at me like I’m God.”

                “They were saying King Killer,” Brynn muttered, almost more to himself than her. “Not King Kill Her.” He turned back to Sarah. “But _I_ am their King and you haven’t killed me.”

                “And I don’t plan on it,” she replied wryly. “I have enough blood on my hands.” Shuddering, she drew her arms around herself. The wind was starting to pick up.

                “Talk to them,” Brynn ordered suddenly, rising to his feet. “Ask them about Jareth El’Maven.”

                There was no point asking why. The Fae had an expression that said he expected to obeyed, after all the shit she’d put him through. Gathering herself, Sarah stood and faced the hordes again. Before she could stop herself she glanced at the spot where Mira and Keel had been. There was nothing but something dark staining the stones. Feeling sick she lifted her gaze. “Your previous King,” she said in a loud voice. “Tell me about your previous King.”

                They blinked. Tails lashed and claws scraped together in anxiousness. There were no terrible voices.

                “Jareth El’Maven!” Sarah shouted impatiently, tired beyond all reason. “Tell me what you remember about Jareth El’Maven!”

                _Punished he was punished and tricked and stolen – King Killer took his years left him no Light – sent to Other Place worse than dying yes better we did rip him up drip that blood –_

“Enough!” she yelled, skin crawling at the sound of them. Silence fell once more. “Who’s the King Killer?”

                _You Your Majesty King Killer you took his Light took his years left for dead better to –_

She stopped listening. They’d just called her _Majesty_. Bewildered, she turned to Brynn, who seemed to have understood something.

                “They think you destroyed Jareth,” he revealed slowly. “The day of the ceremony. They think Jareth’s transference was you –”

                “What, sucking out his soul? Stealing all his powers?”

                “To that effect, yes.”

                “So they think I’m head honcho now?”

                “It explains why I haven’t felt connected to them,” Brynn muttered. Oddly enough, he didn’t sound resentful. “I thought they were crying out for your blood, but they were resisting me because they want _you_ as Goblin King.”

                “Queen,” Sarah corrected vaguely. Wheels were spinning, ideas forming. “What exactly happened when Jareth…did whatever he did to me?”

                “It’s impossible to say,” he answered. “Transference has never taken place between human and Fae before.”

                “Well what’s the _usual_ process?”

                “You speak so casually about something you don’t understand,” he said testily. “Giving your years to another person is not a course of action taken on a whim. We aren’t large in numbers. Deciding that the life of one person is more important than the greater purpose of our existence…” he shook his head as if in disbelief that such a decision could even be made. “It’s a kind of devotion so uncommon in my world that the word transference fell out of public knowledge centuries ago.”

                _Devotion._ Sarah thought of Jareth, of him murmuring into her ear so fervently, holding her so carefully while she bled in his arms. The pain wasn’t quite the only thing she could remember. His words had seemed so _strong_. “Jareth made that decision,” she said. “What does that mean?”

                “Between two Fae, it means the transferring of one’s immortality to another. If I were to give my years to my brother, for example, I would sacrifice the longevity of my existence and bestow it upon him. I’d become mortal.”

                “What kind of thing would make you do that?”

                “In truth? Nothing. My brother’s an idiot. But for the sake of argument, if he were seriously injured without hope of recovery, I might see fit to prolong his life. He would gain my potential years, which is more than a few centuries.”

                Sarah felt sick. She examined her hands. Strange how it didn’t _feel_ like her whole existence had been tampered with. “So…I’m immortal now?”

                The goblins began to stir restlessly. “They’re growing impatient,” Brynn muttered, watching them carefully. Then, to her: “Nobody knows what you are, Miss Williams. There’s no precedent for you.” He paused, eyes flashing. “Nor _should_ there be.”

                Chittering broke out below them.

“Just wait, will you?!” Sarah shouted without thinking, and the creatures stilled again. “So you can’t explain to me why I’m having weird flashbacks of what looks like bits of Jareth’s future?”

                “His future?” Brynn frowned. “What are you –?”

                A voice interrupted him. At first Sarah thought it was the goblins, but Brynn’s face had taken on that suddenly blank look that she knew well by now.

                _I wish the goblins would come and take you away right now!_

                That was _not_ from her memory. That was a boy’s voice, a young boy, with possibly a European accent. “Did you hear that?” she asked Brynn, who regarded her with surprise.

                “Did _you_?” he asked in an oddly quiet voice.

                “Yeah, it was sort of echoing and faded like background noise but –”

                “And so it is, then.” He looked –well – _resigned._

                “What?” Sarah demanded. “What now?”

                “You’ve heard the wish, Sarah Williams. So as a responsible Goblin Queen, you must answer the call.”

                That information sunk like a brick, yet she refused to accept it. “I’m not the Goblin Queen.”

                Shrieks and clicks and sinuous bone-like voices filled the air: _King Killer, King Killer, time to go, time to deliver, prizes and testing and flesh flesh flesh –_

“Oh god.” Now she really _was_ going to be sick. Clutching her stomach, Sarah took a deep breath and met Brynn’s annoyingly calm face with a pleading look. “I’m not their Queen!” she insisted. “I can’t do this!”

                “I would go but there’s no point. They’ve chosen you, Miss Williams. Your Majesty. You have to answer the call.”

                “But –”

                “If you won’t accept it as your duty, then think of it as your penance.”

                “Penance for what?”

                “For the murder of my Queen.”

                As ever, she couldn’t resist the temptation to flare up like a trapped animal. “So that’s how you’re going to play it, huh? You act all cool like it doesn’t bother you that you’ve been rejected, but somehow you’re more than happy to throw me into the freaking deep end and watch me drown?”

“Don’t presume to understand me, Sarah,” Brynn bit out sharply. “I’m not petty. I’m curious to see how you’ll handle the situation.”

“Oh great, that’s so much better,” she growled. “Well tough luck. I’m not doing it.”

                _I wish the goblins would come and take you away right now!_

                “Is that getting louder or is it just me?”

                “It sounds quiet to me,” the Fae answered, pointedly glancing down at the goblins below.   They were practically stomping their feet with impatience. “You need to make a decision.”

                “I don’t have any powers!” she protested. “How am I supposed to do whatever you guys do? I can’t throw crystal balls around or walk upside down or –”

                “That never seemed to stop you before.”

                _I WISH THE GOBLINS WOULD COME AND –_

“Fuck, this kid doesn’t let up does he?” Sarah rubbed at her temples. “I don’t want to play the bad guy!”

                “Then don’t. But you must play somehow.”

                He was loving this, she thought bitterly. It was the perfect way to get revenge, sending her off to fumble through a King’s duties like a stupid novice. He probably hoped she’d die somehow in the process.

                _Play the game, the game the game, play with us King Killer –_

“All right! Fine! I’ll play the stupid game!” Sarah shouted, pulled apart by different streams of pressure: goblin demands and the wishes of a boy and the insistent look on Brynn’s face. She’d run this fucking Labyrinth into the _ground_. “But I’m changing the rules.”

 

* * *

 

 

It felt as if he’d been away on some awful holiday.

                Only he had no memory of being away and felt, instead of well-rested, like he’d been thrown against a brick wall a few times and told to run laps. More than that, Wick – as well as the others – were sick with worry. If he’d been unSevered then that meant the Queen was dead. If the Queen was dead, why hadn’t Sarah called for him like they’d planned? She was meant to call as soon as it happened because the disguises would fail and she’d be found out. He was meant to go and take her back to the Above, where she was safe from the fallout. But they hadn’t heard so much as a whisper for help and they were starting to fret. Wick himself was thinking fondly of Sarah’s irritating mantras of old and wished she would start one up that very minute. He’d give anything to be annoyed by her again.

                It didn’t help that he was settling into emotions. They were jagged at the edges inside him, whirling and falling like leaves caught in the wind. It was like trying to fit into an old uniform that had shrunk. One feeling in particular was gnawing at him even more than worry, yet he couldn’t quite name it. A cloud blocking out the sun, that’s what it felt like. A shadow passing over both of his souls. When he took a moment to concentrate on the feeling, the goblins were startled to find tears well in his eyes.

                “I cannot bear this a moment longer,” said Didymus as he paced the length of the room in anxious bursts of energy. “Why hast the Lady not entreated us to intervene?”

                “Cos she ain’t _gonna_ entreat nobody,” Hoggle said grumpily. Nervousness tended to show as aggression with the dwarf-goblin. “Yer know full bloody well she weren’t never gonna risk callin’ us to the Palace.” He sniffed. “She’s too good for her own good, that one.”

                “It’s not right,” Wick said, jumping to his feet again. It was impossible to settle in one place. “We shouldn’t be waiting around; we should be –”

                “My thoughts exactly good Sir! Let us ride into battle and storm the Palace gates at once!”

                “We ain’t stormin’ nothin’!” Hoggle shouted, his gravelly voice a strange contrast to the high squeak of Didymus. “If we go chargin’ in there without knowin’ what’s what, we could do more than good!”

                “I suspect you are simply _frightened_ , Sir Hoggle,” Didymus replied in an uncommonly irritated voice. “But it does not do a creature’s honour any favours to hide in bedrooms when there are maidens in distress.”

                “If we went anywhere for Sarah, Hoggle’d be first in line, yer tiny rat,” the dwarf-goblin seethed indignantly. “But if we go runnin’ in there and she’s fine, _we_ might be the ones to reveal her to the Fae folk. An’ then her blood is on _our_ hands, an’ I ain’t havin’ that.”

                “He’s right,” Wick said, flicking through a book he’d found on the bed. It was wonderfully old and well-read, and filled him with pangs of longing for his friend. “Which is why I should go in. Alone.”          

                “Yer _what_?”

                “Good Sir!”

                “Elf save Sawah?”

                “Yes Ludo,” Wick replied with a nervous smile. “I’m going to see if she’s all right.”

                “Not on yer own, yer ain’t,” said Hoggle, moving as if to block Wick’s access to the vanity mirror. “We wait for the call, like yer fiery cousin said so, or we go together.”

                “You just said it yourself that we can’t all go running through the Palace!” Wick lay the book down carefully on the bed and faced them all determinedly. “I’m the only one who knows my way around and who can hear Sarah if she calls me. Brave as you all are this isn’t about courage. This is about stealth and precaution, and to be honest –” he spread his hands before him, encompassing them all, “Not one of you is the least bit inconspicuous.”

                Ludo, who was kind and never took offence, said nothing in protest. Didymus opened his mouth to say something, seemed to register his own manic nervous energy and full-body quivering, and closed it again. Hoggle was quite used to admitting his flaws and didn’t bat an eye.

                Instead, they threatened him.

                “If yer get her into trouble, yer gonna wish you’d been Severed all over again,” Hoggle grumbled.

                “If my Lady comes to any harm while in your care, Sir Wick, I shall be most unhappy about having to berate you rather nastily.”

                “Wick be _careful_ ,” Ludo stressed, shifting onto his enormous feet.

                “Duly noted,” the Elf said with a respectful flick of his hand at them. Before they could change their minds he leapt into action, climbing up onto the vanity desk and peering into the mirror. “Give me an hour. If I’m not back, feel free to come searching for me. If only just so you can carry out your threats.”

                He stepped through without hearing their replies.

                The Palace was in pandemonium. Elves rushed by with determined faces, eager to serve, to search and carry messages back and forth. Fae royals stalked the halls with broad steps, talking in hurried whispers amongst one another. He spotted one or two Council members and ducked his head, catching snippets of conversation as they raced by.

                “– could she have gone? You know, her son has been banished Above, perhaps she changed her…?”

                “I don’t believe it possible that she’s left the Palace, she was in so much…”

So they’d noticed the Queen was missing, then. It made his job a little easier in one respect, able to rush through the halls as if he’d been sent on a job. On the other hand, it meant that if Sarah was anywhere in the Palace she’d be hiding fairly well.

                A shadow appeared over his shoulder and a hand settled on it.

                “I need assistance, Elf,” said a sharp-faced Fae with crimson markings and long dark hair. His appearance seemed vaguely familiar to Wick, who carefully smoothed his face into one of blank subservience. The Fae drew him into a corner and lowered his voice, though it remained authoritative and direct. “You will go the Dust Bowl. You will seek out Lina El’Maven, heir to the Domain Throne, and inform her she’s to return to the Palace with you. Tell her to wait in the Council Chambers until Brynn Fel Vaden contacts her. Have you got that?”

                How was he supposed to ignore a demand like _that_? He didn’t have time for this! Sarah could be found by the wrong person any second! “Sir, I apologise, but I am laden with the duties of another noble –”

                “Not anymore,” Fel Vaden cut in sharply. “The Goblin King overrides the commands of any other in the Palace.” He seemed to pause awkwardly at that, as if making sure no others had heard. Then he conjured a mirror for Wick to step into. “Now go. Immediately.”

                With the Fae watching, Wick had no choice. Squirming with unease, he tried to keep a neutral expression as he walked forward through the gateway, into the arid waste of the Dust Bowl.

 

* * *

 

 

Luka meant things when he said them.

                He was a careful boy, a precise and measured speaker. You had to be when you barely got a word in edgewise between your three sisters. When people finally listened, you had to be ready. You couldn’t waste a single word. He was smart – smarter than his sisters and most of his classmates, which was where the trouble came in. Eleven year olds didn’t seem to like a boy who could read faster, spell better, answer questions more quickly. Their way of dealing with him was to push him to the side.

                The girl guiltiest of this was Eva Neese, the one Luka had wished away.

                She was a bully. She kicked and punched and stole his backpack and crammed him into the garbage bins once a week. She made his life unbearable, which was why he’d wished her away, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t afraid.

                In fact, sitting alone on the park bench, he was terrified.

                Wind battered the trees around him and hissed like snakes through the overgrown grass. Thick clouds dark as a stormy night rolled in and blocked out the sun. Luka huddled into his school jacket and trembled as eyes appeared in the bushes surrounding him. The park wasn’t empty but other kids had fled as soon as that awful lightning stuck three times across the sky. Now it was just Luka and his careful words and the goblins. He thought they were saying things. Scary things. Nasty things.  

                “Don’t be scared,” came a gentle voice, yet Luka jumped out of his skin.

                There was a woman sitting next to him who hadn’t been there before. She had red-rimmed eyes and a slightly sniffy nose but an encouraging smile. Crawling to the end of the bench he pushed back his lanky fringe and stared wide eyed at her. He glanced suspiciously at the faded black shorts and well-worn navy top, chunky shoes: not the kind of thing you’d wear for the start of winter in Hamburg.

                “You weren’t there before,” he sniffed.

                “Nope,” she answered distantly. Her accent reminded him on the people on television. The sky seemed to flicker with lightning in time to her measured blinks up at it. “Looks like a big storm coming. Shouldn’t you head home?”

                “I’m waiting,” he answered, wrapping his arms around shaking knees. “I’ve made a wish. Now I have to wait.”

                “For the Goblin King?”

                He narrowed his eyes at her, untrusting. “How did you know?”

                Casually the woman flicked her dark hair away from where it hung down her shoulder. Beneath it, hanging on a cord around her neck, was a polished silver pendant with a gold circle in the middle. It was just as they described it in the book. Suspicious eyes grew wide in awe and surprise.

                “ _You’re_ the Goblin King?”

                “No,” she answered firmly, following through with a complicated series of shrugs and eye rolls. “Well, yes. Well, the _Queen_ , actually. Apparently.” There was a definite look of unhappiness on her face at that.

                Luka examined her clothes again, the chipped fingernails and worried, normal-looking eyes. “You don’t look like it.”

                “It’s only my first day. And hopefully my last too.”

                Luka took a breath, unsure of what to say to that. He clenched his little fists and licked his lips nervously. “So have you taken Eva Neese for me?”

                The Goblin Queen stared beyond him at the eyes and snouts and teeth glistening in the bushes, just out of sight. Following her gaze Luka found himself inching closer to her, where it felt safer.

                “I suppose they have,” she said, clearly annoyed by the thought. She leant back against the bench and studied him. “Why did you wish her away?”

                “She bullies me,” he told her plainly. “I don’t want her to bully me anymore.”

                “So you want me to turn her into a goblin? Seems a bit harsh, don’t you think?”

                “I don’t think so,” Luka replied stubbornly. “It’s no worse than what she’s done to me all year.”

                The monsters around them started to chitter and growl impatiently and they _both_ jumped.

                “You’re their boss,” Luka reminded her quietly.

                “Right. I am,” she replied with a tight smile. Then in a louder voice, directed at the bushes: “ _Shut it!_ You will sit there and wait until your Queen is good and ready!”

                The noises died down. The Goblin Queen nodded self-satisfactorily. “Still can’t believe they’re listening to me,” she murmured. “Look kid, I’ve got a brother about your age.” There was a pause in her train of thought, a frown and a crinkling of her eyes. “Well, I used to.” She cleared her throat. “So I know you boys say things all the time that you don’t really mean.”

                “But I did mean it.”

                “Uh-huh. The problem _is_ , what’s said is said, as a friend of mine would say. I can’t do anything about that.”

                “I don’t _want_ you to do anything,” Luka grumbled. “She’s gone and that’s it.”

                “But you don’t understand what you’ve done. Not really.” She leaned in, as if to whisper, and Luka found himself stretching forward to catch the words. “See, the way it used to go when I was younger, was that you either took your dreams from the old Goblin King and let the person go to the goblins, or you ran his Labyrinth and won the person back. But these days it’s different. One: I can’t give you any dreams, and two: you _don’t_ want to run the maze. Trust me. It’s full of really scary stuff. Like, adult scary. Stuff that would make Batman curl up and cry.”

                “I don’t want dreams and I don’t want to run the maze,” Luka told her fervently. “You can just have her.”               

                The Goblin Queen wasn’t what he’d been expecting. Where he thought she’d be frightening and tough, she was gentle and soft. He’d imagined cold eyes and a big cape and lots of spikes – but she looked like any other grown-up. And what was more, she looked _sad_. “What’s your name?” she asked him.

                He told her.

                “Well, Luka, I need you to understand something. It’s not nice, what I have to say, but you need to know so that you can do the right thing. Okay?”

                It wasn’t every day that grown-ups spoke to him that way. Usually they were just glad when he picked up a book and stopped pestering them with facts about the world. He found himself nodding quite seriously, eager to hear what strange information she wanted to share with him.

                “You know how I said that things have changed for you, with the dreams and the maze? Well, they’ve changed for the person you wished away too. See, my goblins aren’t very nice. They used to be smaller, and a bit silly and annoying and mean when they got carried away. But now…” she lowered her voice, so that he had to strain to hear. “There’s only _really_ mean ones left. Goblins that will hurt poor Eva. And there’s not much I can do to stop them.”

                The way she said _hurt_ made his skin crawl. But that was what Eva had done to him, hadn’t it? Hurt him? Was it the same thing?

                “But I can tell you’re a smart kid, Luka. You’re a good kid. And I bet you didn’t know that would happen to Eva when you wished her away.”

                He shook his head, unable to speak.

                “And I know it’s hard to think about, but don’t you think Eva’s parents would be really sad without their daughter? Imagine if you disappeared. Wouldn’t your mum and dad be upset?”

                “Yes,” Luka said quietly.

                “Whatever she’s done isn’t worth being hurt by goblins, is it? You could just talk to her. Hey, _I_ could have a chat with her, if you like, about all this bullying stuff.”

                Luka thought about this. It took him a little while but the Queen didn’t seem to mind. The wind softened around them, waiting, and she yelled at the monsters again when they became impatient. All in all, Luka mostly wanted to scare Eva. She was a vicious, nasty girl with something against him, and he thought that short of sending her away forever, a good fright would be enough. Sneaking glances at the goblins, he imagined how scared she must be now. He was only sitting on a bench near them and _his_ knees were shaking; what would he do if he was surrounded by them in the Underground?

                “What do you think?” the Goblin Queen asked him quietly.

                “I think she’s probably been scared enough now,” he answered. “And I don’t think I’d want to stay Underground forever, if I was her.”

                Her face broke out in a proud smile; she patted him on the shoulder. “Good thinking! I agree! So let’s do something about it!”

                The bushes rustled dangerously. “What do we do?” Luka asked nervously.

                “To be honest? I have no idea. But!” she exclaimed at his frantic look, “I _do_ know I have to play fair for my side so these guys in the shadows don’t feel cheated.”

                “But you’re the _Queen_. Can’t you do whatever you want?”

                “Not really. It’s a two-way street with the hordes, I’m learning. It’s more about respect than control.”

                “What kind of Kingdom is that?”

                She was getting to her feet and climbing up onto the bench, standing tall with hands on her hips. “A pretty decent one, actually. If I can just tweak a few things.” Luka winced as she raised her voice suddenly. “Listen up everyone! We need to work on a few things! I’m changing the way we all play this game, have you got that?”

                The bushes rustled _really_ dangerously. Cries like teeth scraping bone filled the air.

                _No new game no new game King Killer play the same play the same –_

The voices made his skin crawl. Luka found himself suddenly backed right up against the Goblin Queen’s legs in an effort to seek reassurance that he wouldn’t be ripped to shreds. They sounded so _angry_.

                “Who is your Queen?!” she roared in a fairly impressive tone, quieting the creatures into a dull murmur, if not total silence. “Don’t forget what I did to Jareth El’Maven! I can do that to any one of you without batting an eye!”

                The bushes sulked.

                “That’s better! Now listen. I’ve seen the way this whole Goblin-Labyrinth-Ruler thing works and I’m changing it. And do you know _who_ I’m changing it for? You. I’m going to help you.” She patted the top of Luka’s head without taking her eyes off the creatures emerging from the shadows. Long noses, hooked beaks, horns, spikes, things with split tongues and red eyes came crawling and slithering and shuffling out of their hiding places. Luka wanted to scream but he thought hard about it and decided it wouldn’t be a good idea. Besides, they seemed to be listening very carefully to what the Queen had to say. “I want to give you your freedom back, but I need to be able to trust you with it.”

                _Trust trust yes let us climb the Walls tear down the Walls so much space to move and –_

“No,” she cut in firmly. “You’re not tearing down anything. That City is still part of your home, and it’s a good place to keep anyone who doesn’t follow my rules!”

                _Rules! Rules! No new rules!_

                “Will you hear me out first?” she growled. The mob of terrifying beasts laid their ears flat and swished their tails in silence. “Thankyou. I know you’re all frustrated. I know you’re sick of being cooped up in the City. What did you have before everything with the King happened? You had the Castle! And you had access to the Labyrinth! Well, I’ll grant you these things again, the freedom to come and go –” she had to raise her voice over the sudden din – “ _If_ you obey my rules! The rules I’m putting in place to _protect_ you!”

                _Need no protection no protection goblins fight goblins eat goblins kill –_

“Oh really?” she asked with a raised brow. “So the whole thing about me sucking out the King’s soul and immortality and casting him away into oblivion…that doesn’t worry you? Because you know I’m human, right? As human as all those people you’ve been feasting on for months?”

                This didn’t seem like a good thing to point out to them, Luka thought. Wouldn’t they just see that the Queen was as weak as any other person?

                _Humans have no Light no magic no strength, Kill Killer different, King Killer has Light –_

“I didn’t when I first came here two years ago and changed your King’s life,” she replied casually. “I didn’t have any Light or magic when I got inside his head and manipulated him into ignoring all your traditions.” An idea seemed to come from nowhere and she hurriedly plucked at the pendant around her neck, holding it up for the blinking creatures to see. “This was his, do you remember? And now it’s mine. I don’t need magic or spells or voodoo to change a mind, or a world, or a goblin game. Humans are capable of incredible power and strength. And every time you’ve killed one of them they’ve marked it down and remembered it.” She swished her hair back dramatically, pendant gleaming in a sudden ray of light through the clouds. “I’m just one human and I’ve turned your whole Domain on its head. Imagine what thousands of them could do in revenge?”

                The goblins thought about this. They took their time, just the way Luka did. Looks were shared among the creatures as if they were having a silent talk with each other. He glanced up at the Queen and was amazed at how confident she looked, though he could feel her legs trembling against his back and see her hands shaking. The bone-like voices spoke up again, more quietly.

                _What new rules?_

“You aren’t allowed to lay a single claw on anything but your own kind. No Fae, no humans, no half-goblins, no fairies or dwarves. If I hear about you even _looking_ at any of them sideways, the Fates help you. I will _not_ be happy.”

                The goblins didn’t look very happy about this either.

                The Queen noticed this and continued on. “Do you know where humans come from originally? From the place I sent Jareth to. It’s a reality far more dangerous than the one we stand in now. There are creatures there that would eat you in one bite, or not even notice that they had stepped on you with their huge feet. They would do to you what you do to humans. _But_ – and this is where I’m respecting you guys – I won’t send you there if you just follow my rules. Got that? I…”

                What on Earth could possess a Goblin Queen so quickly?

                That’s what it had to be, Luka reasoned, certain that some demon had just taken over her mind. The woman trailed off mid-sentence and her face fell slack, eyes staring off into the distance. She didn’t seem to feel it when he tugged at her shorts, or murmured worriedly if she was all right. It was a daydreaming sort of expression, he thought, one that she didn’t seem to be able to snap out of. Luka stood on the bench in front of the Queen and waved his hands in front of her face to no response.

                At least, not from the Queen. Behind him came a soft chorus of sharp breaths. Luka broke out in a cold sweat, filled with the urge to scream more than he ever had in his life. He would gladly face Eva Neese on her most awful day rather than turn around at that moment. But he had to, just had to, and found himself facing a pack of goblins no longer interested in their Queen.

                And for once, though he thought about it hard, Luka had absolutely nothing to say.

 


	15. Face the Strange: Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I didn’t know what would be worse for you guys: having to wait another few days for an update, or to have an update that is really just part 2 of a 3-part chapter. I decided to go with the latter because I’m two hours away from my flight to see the DAVID BOWIE IS exhibition!! And I really felt bad for leaving you guys hanging much longer! Although you’ll probably hate me because (warning spoiler) there’s not J/S reunion in this part. I swear I was getting to it and once again my life just snuck up on me. But you’ll have it when I get back, I assure you! So here you go! I’ll see you on the other side of my fantastic trip to Melbourne to revel in the glory of Bowie! xxx

**Face the strange: part two**

 

A peacekeeper’s duties were never done.

                Just because she spent her days in lengthy mitigation didn’t mean she was exempt from daily tasks. Like scrubbing pots, for instance, or harvesting the few crops that grew, or washing her own clothes. Every person was responsible for themselves and the lives of others. It was this way because Lina had made it so. And if she had to follow those rules herself in order to lead by example, well then so be it. She was an excellent meditator. And if she was beyond exhausted at the end of each day, then there was a type of peace to be found in that too.  

                But perhaps not today.

                The scrape of sand against clay plots was often her favourite sound to be lost in. However, today Lina couldn’t find the focus. Cross legged in the shade of the kitchen tent, she closed her eyes and tried to breathe evenly. _My hands are – are cracked and calloused,_ she noted silently. _The sand feels…gritty._ The observations didn’t flow the way they usually did; she was struggling with the words. _It stings my skin. It…_ Lina bit her lip in annoyance. The feel of the sand disappeared from thought. All day this had been happening, her mind wandering, skin itching though she couldn’t say why. Blowing at a loose strand of auburn hair, she sighed and tried again. _It makes a rasping sound against the clay, which scratches at my ears and…and…_

                She growled in frustration, choosing instead to attack the pots with vigour. If peace wasn’t to be found, then she’d get the job done quickly and get to bed. Maybe tomorrow her nameless unease would have passed.

                “You’ll crack the clay if you work it that hard,” a passing elder scolded on her way from the kitchen. Lina bit her tongue and slowed her pace only until the woman was out of sight. Then, resuming the rough work, she thought of Jareth for the hundredth time that afternoon. Why hadn’t he been to visit her again? She’d counted every second since their first and last meeting in the dream state. It concerned her that he hadn’t come again. But then, he _was_ the Goblin King – because of her – and probably wildly busy – because of her. She wondered how Sarah was and tried not to think about what the girl was risking to be with Jareth. If she’d been discovered by Mira…Lina shook her head. _No. He’d have found me. I would know. He’d have gotten –_

                “There’s an Elf here to see you, Lina.”

                After one hundred years she was more than used to being addressed casually by the community. This meant that at first she didn’t quite register the significance of the announcement. She smiled tiredly up at the sunburned face of T’orelle, a young woman who lived nearby the peacekeepers’ zones.

                “Someone’s here for me?” she enquired, wiping her hands of sand. Any distraction from her restless mind was welcome, even if it was to be more work.

                “An _Elf_ is here for you,” the woman emphasised. “He just stepped out of a mirror and asked to see you. Said he’s been sent from the Goblin King.”

                Lina froze. She’d never shown much talent for prescience the way her mother did. Yet that must have been a small flicker of it then, surely. “Where is he?” she asked, flooded with images of blood and execution and her distraught brother. Following T’orelle wordlessly, Lina wiped her hands on her skirts and tried to ignore how they trembled. Why had he sent an Elf in person? Why not the dream state? If he was contacting her directly then he must have lost too much for the risks to matter. _Oh, my brother._ One hand clung tightly to the hair that spilled over her shoulder. T’orelle stopped outside the adjoining tents used for Council meetings and eyed Lina, concerned.

                “He won’t say what he’s here for exactly,” she ventured, gently touching the Fae’s arm. “But he seems distressed, even if he won’t admit it. I’ll be here if you need me.”

                “Thank you,” Lina replied with a tight smile, barely trusting herself to speak. Her heart beat painfully hard, ignoring decades of training that warned her to keep calm. Wherever Jareth was concerned Lina tended to forget herself. It was an effort to take a deep breath before pushing her way through the open tent flaps into the dim interior.

                He was his True Self; she could tell that much.

                Though the Elf stood straighter upon her arrival and offered a courteous bow, there was a spark of life in his eyes that gleamed despite the shadows of their surroundings. Words were already half-formed on his lips, mouth moving silently while he waited for her to approach. His booted foot tapped an anxious rhythm into the sand. Lina knew Elves, and she knew that this particular one was pretending to be something he wasn’t.

                “Your Royal Highness,” he began with a tremor in that determined voice, “I have been sent to –”

                “You’ve been _beaten_ ,” she interrupted, aghast at the sight of his bruised eyes, healing lip and sunken cheeks. Elves were never treated too gently but it didn’t make the reality any less unpleasant. Immediately Lina rushed to him with an outstretched hand and touched his arm. She couldn’t help herself when it came to Elves. It was nothing to do with being reminded of Kiff; she’d inherited a love for their community from her father. Murmuring the words for healing, she watched in satisfaction as the pointed green face became one of absolute health.

                “You’re very forward for a royal,” he muttered, touching his jaw.

                “And you’re very bad at pretending to be a servant,” she replied, smiling indulgently at his surprised expression. “Now please, tell me my brother is all right.”

                “You’ve missed a lot,” the Elf told her. Though his voice became more natural it was no less tense with anxiousness. “The Goblin King sent me to collect you, Ma’am. I’m sorry I don’t have time to explain anything; I need to find Sarah before –”

                “Find her? Where’s she gone?”

                “If I knew that I wouldn’t be looking for her,” he replied tersely, ushering for her to follow him to a large slim mirror a few steps away. “I’ll take you to the Council Chambers and then I have to go. You’ll have to forgive my rudeness.”

                “Oh will I now?” Lina muttered despite her worry. She liked True Elf personalities; they were vivid and flawed and real. “What’s your name?”

                “Wick,” he told her, stepping through the mirror with a look that told her to follow. Any other Fae would have been affronted by his demeanour, but a century among desert dwellers had lowered Lina’s expectations of deference. The name sparked a familiarity she couldn’t place, but she had to hurry to follow him through the mirror and had no chance to speak. One blink, and her world changed as it hadn’t done for decades.

                The Palace was just as she remembered: heartless and chilly and _hard_. The marble and stone reflected impassivity in the face of all the life-altering decisions that had been made within those walls. A shiver made her hair stand on end. The last time she’d been here she’d been the one on trial. Her own mother had condemned her to exile in the Dust Bowl. _Training_ , was what she’d called it, but Lina had seen right through that. She wrapped her arms around herself; this place chilled her to the bone more than any simple change of weather could. Seeking out Wick for comfort, Lina saw him vanish around the corner in a dash, no doubt to continue his search for Sarah. She had so many questions and nobody to ask. Loneliness settled on her like a shadow. But _alone_ , she was not.

                The first Fae she’d seen in decades – besides Jareth – were the ones who’d helped send her away to begin with. Ezra looked untouched by age as ever, sleek and mean-spirited. Dovail and Marina, twins in their reserved expressions and stiff posture. Jini, the youngest of them all, with a disdain on her face that she hadn’t quite earned the right to wear yet. And the others, all attempting to appear calm though it was clear that something was gravely amiss. They all stood in a semi-circle, rapid conversations cutting short upon her arrival.

                Their expressions spoke of waiting to be addressed in the proper manner. Lina hadn’t forgotten Fae propriety in one hundred years, but the Council weren’t to know that. She forced a smile and a slight nod, but nothing more. Worry over Jareth was starting to take hold again.

                “Where are your thoughts, child, that you forget your place among Council members?” Ezra demanded, stepping forward.

                “My thoughts are with my brother,” she answered swiftly. “And my _place_ is by his side. Nothing else matters to me, least of all social standing.” Years of growing up as a royal had honed Lina’s ability to deflect Ezra’s tedious superiority. There was little the old woman could say that would have any effect on her.

                “Then your mind is in the Above, which is of no use to us when your mother has disappeared!” Dovail bit out heatedly. The less rash of the two, Marina winced at her brother’s tone but said nothing. The Council had always had a complicated relationship with the royal children, affronted by their tenacity but forced to yield by custom.

                Lina, for her part, did little to make it easier for them. “What?” she asked bluntly. “What do you mean ‘ _Above_ ’? And where’s my mother?”

                Ezra opened her mouth to speak but the arrival of another Fae brought expectant silence. Lina turned to the new face with angry eyes, desperate and impatient for more information. The man was vaguely familiar for his resemblance to Ezra, but Lina couldn’t place the name. She remembered him from childhood, almost fifty years old herself and every bit as stiff as his ancestor.

                “I apologise for the wait my honourable Councillors, my Lady El’Maven,” he said in a deep, authoritative voice. He bowed to them all but let his grey eyes rest solemnly on Lina. “I am Brynn Fel Vaden, Ma’am. I’m afraid I’ve summoned you here for dire reasons.”

                _The Goblin King sent me to collect you, Ma’am._ Lina regarded him warily. He’d bowed specifically to her with his left fist over his heart, a sign of condolence in times of loss. Her throat felt dry as dust. “You aren’t the Goblin King,” she said hoarsely.

                “That is debatable,” he answered plainly, hand falling to the side. “In a manner of speaking I still am, but the next few hours will reveal my true standing.”

                _Sign of loss. No Jareth._ An awful feeling was welling inside Lina, a fire ready to blaze, a river ready to drown. “Where’s J –”

                “Why have you stopped us in our search, Goblin King?” Dovail interrupted. “Her Majesty is missing, and we –”

                “I’m afraid you can call off the search, Councillor,” Brynn cut in shortly. “I found the Queen.”

                “Well where is she?” demanded Ezra.

                Again, in an oddly distanced way, Brynn made the sign of condolence toward Lina before answering. “Her Majesty called me to her urgently this evening. She told me that the pain of her broken promise was too much to bear, and asked that Sarah Williams be killed so it may stop. She told me, for reasons I can’t fathom, not to call on anyone else. I did what was asked of me. I brought the sleeping body of Miss Williams to the Goblin City Centre in the company of the Queen.” His report was careful, paced, respectful. Too proper to reveal any true grief, but that could have just been the way he spoke about any subject. He hesitated. “The hordes have never been under the jurisdiction of the Royal Family. They have only ever responded to the leadership of their choosing. Tonight…with her Majesty so weak…they were beyond any Fae control. Her injuries were too much temptation.” He barely blinked. “The goblins took the Queen’s life.”            

                Some of the Councillors gasped, some bowed their heads in silence. Lina’s mind was filled with a thick buzzing, a cotton sensation that made it difficult to think. Oddly, or perhaps not so, she longed for her father in that moment. She missed him, yet on the heels of that thought came another, full of bitter hope: “So – so Jareth’s not dead?”

                Brynn looked confused. “Your brother is safe as he ever was, Ma’am,” he told her. “As safe as he can be as a mortal in the Above.”

                “ _A mortal in the Above_?”

                He blinked. “Has nobody told you?”

                “What of the human?” Ezra interrupted, pushing forward with hellish fury in her eyes. “Was she consumed by the hordes too?”

                “Not quite.”

                “What do you mean ‘not quite’?”

                “The creatures have chosen Sarah Williams as their leader,” Brynn told them composedly, receiving much outcry in response.

                “She’s _human –_ ”

                “That’s absurd, they can’t have –”

                “How can a –?”

                “She should have been killed months –”

                “ _My mother is dead!_ ” Lina screamed over the din, fists clenched and eyes sparkling with emotion. They all fell silent. “Mira El’Maven is dead. As her daughter that makes me Queen, so you will answer me: _where is my brother_?”

 

* * *

 

 

_“I wanna live, I wanna give, I’ve been a miner for a heart of gold…”_

_The voice seemed to celebrate its melancholy; the guitar thrummed a sad beat around the words and lulled him into an easy sense of peace. Sarah’s taste in music had always been hard to pin down, yet with their recent investment it seemed easier to revel in her penchant for the nostalgic. His own favourites tended toward a more eclectic selection of old human rock. However, lying beside her on the carpet amidst a selection of her treasured LPs granted him a peace he hadn’t quite expected._

_“I love the crackling sound,” Sarah murmured, reaching a hand over her head to play with a strand of his hair. Thirty years on and she still loved the simple things in life._

_“And you laughed when I said vinyl should make a comeback,” he replied with an affected tsk of his tongue._

_“Music is too abstract now,” she continued, apparently choosing to ignore his comment. “It makes me think…where do all my ITunes folders even **exist**? In a cloud somewhere in the Above? What if they disappeared one day? I’d lose them all. But here, **here** , well, that’s different isn’t it? I have you and I have my record player and my little collection of LPs and they can never just **vanish** for no reason.”_

_“You’re a bit drunk, love.”_

_“Little bit.” She rolled onto her side to face him, smiling, beatific, murmuring the words to the song. “Kiss me, my heart of gold, whom I didn’t grow old waiting for.”_

_“With pleasure, darling wife –”_

There was just no anticipating the timing of those damned future memories. Sarah blinked herself back into consciousness, half-drunk with the simple pleasure of that fading vision. What had she been doing? Oh, _shit_. She’d blacked out in the middle of her big speech.

                But the boy was – amazingly – still alive, crouched on the bench at her feet. He was also closely surrounded by a pack of very interested goblins, but you couldn’t be picky with what you woke up to find when monsters were involved.

                “Luka, are you okay?” she murmured, ca reful not to move too fast for fear of spooking the creatures. They were huddled close and sniffing the boy’s shoes like curious, devilish dogs.

                “They’ve just been smelling me,” he replied in a scared whisper. Then, more urgently: “What _happened_ to you?”

                “I’m sorry,” she told him earnestly. “I have these visions sometimes and I can’t control them.” Raising her voice, Sarah addressed the goblins. “So – so you left the boy alone…”

                _King Killer said not to touch not to hurt._

“That’s right, I did. You – you’ve passed the test. Well done. You’ve pleased your Queen.” She fumbled over those last words, feeling silly no matter how her subjects seemed to respond happily. It occurred to her that she didn’t quite know what to do next. They’d established some kind of equilibrium, in terms of respectful give and take. Yet she somehow didn’t expect them to just disappear back to the City at her say-so.

                “How do we get Eva back?” asked Luka in a small, polite voice.

                _Play the game take the test run the maze prove the need._

Sarah’s half-smile vanished. “He’s not running the Labyrinth,” she told them sharply. “He doesn’t need to.”

The goblins blinked at her rapidly and stamped their feet and claws. They repeated their answer.

“I’m your Queen and I say we’re not doing that ‘thirteen hours to solve the Labyrinth’ crap anymore. What’s the point of it?”

 _Sort the worthy teach the ungrateful,_ came the surprisingly eloquent answer. Well, as articulate as it could sound, coming in the vocal equivalent of rocks in a blender.

“There are other ways to do that.” Sarah laid a hand on Luka’s shoulder; he was trembling. “I told you I’d be changing things.”

                _Not this never this,_ they hissed, eyes flashing. _One rule older than time lost to time never changed always the same always played always._

Something in their expressions told her she wouldn’t win this fight. _Well, I was bound to hit a wall somewhere_ , she thought. There was no way you could change so much in one day and expect it to go smoothly. “Then I’m going with him,” she announced firmly, which caused just about the reaction she expected.

                _Not allowed not allowed never that not the leader King Killer no –_

“All right!” she shouted, settling them down. “Okay. I didn’t think that would fly.”

                “I thought I meant it...” Luka whispered beneath her. He sounded petrified. “I always mean things. But not this…poor Eva…” he started to cry.

                The boy was more upset about failing his bully than having to run the Labyrinth on his own. Humans were amazing. Sarah sank to her knees on the bench and took a gentle hold of his shoulders. “Hey. Look at me kiddo.” His quivering lip and wide eyes met hers, and she forced herself to exude control over the situation. “You can do this. You’re a super smart kid, Luka. It won’t be as hard as you imagine, if you just be very careful and think things over before you do anything. It’s a big puzzle, really. Heck, _I_ did it when I was just a kid too, and I did all right.”

                “But – but you said it was dangerous –”

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you, okay? I promise.”

                “But – you’re the Goblin Queen. Why are you on my side?”

                “I’m not on anyone’s _side_ ,” she replied firmly, loud and clear for all to hear. “Got that?” She glanced at the goblins. “I’m not choosing sides; I’m just making sure the game is _fair_. So.” She got to her feet, surveying her subjects, her monsters. “One more rule then: you say I’m not allowed to go with him? I say he’s not allowed to go _alone_ , and I get to pick one person to help him through. Because if he loses, Eva’s name goes on the list and that’s one more human’s family to hold a grudge against you guys. And you don’t want that, remember? So I’m going to even out the odds a bit. One human with a Fae to help him. If he loses, we get to keep Eva and she becomes a goblin. If he wins, Eva goes home and Luka gets to have a chat with her about all this bullying crap. _And_ he can have as long as he likes to solve things.” They were transfixed, deep in thought, ugly brows furrowed tenfold. “Do we have a new understanding?” Her grip on Luka’s hand was painfully tight; she felt him wince beside her.

                _Understanding. Yes._

The relief made her legs want to buckle, but Sarah held on to all the strength she had. They were far from safe yet. She had to figure out just how the hell to get this all started without any magic. How was she even meant to transport them to the Labyrinth gates, the way Jareth had done so long ago? Eyes closed, it was hard not to feel the stirrings of panic. If she couldn’t even move them to the Domain, wouldn’t they start to think her that little bit less powerful? _I need help_.

                “Wow. You’re really the Goblin Queen.”

                “Hmm?” Opening her eyes, Sarah had to squint against the glare of the sudden sunlight. Sunlight that was far too ethereal to belong anywhere but in the Domain. “Oh,” she breathed softly. “Yeah, I guess I am.” They stood, as she had ten years ago, on the hills of a glittering windswept grassland. Nothing had changed and yet everything had. She stood in Jareth’s place looking for all the world like a woman thrown randomly into a fantasy novel. But her appearance meant nothing; inside she felt empowered. They’d come this far just on the strength of her words, hadn’t they? She’d done something that centuries of Fae hadn’t been able to: change the minds of the goblins. And Luka stood where she had, at the crest of the hill, staring out over the maze in judgement. But he’d have help and be safe in the knowledge that the monsters couldn’t touch him. And so would future runners. She couldn’t help the proud smile that came, even if it was marred by the memory of all that had happened to lead her here.

                “It’s bigger than I thought it would be,” Luka murmured, drawing her attention. He was only a slight little thing, all ankles and elbows with not much else to him. Standing beside the vast spread of the Labyrinth made him look positively tiny.

                “Big deal,” Sarah shrugged, purposefully turning her back to the maze. “You’ve got this in the bag, Luka.”

                “But you said it even made Batman cry.”

                _Good one, Sarah._ She’d only said that thinking he wouldn’t have to run it if he didn’t want to. “Did I? Well, that was before I showed those goblins who their boss is. And now that they have to leave you alone, I think it’ll be a bit easier.” She knelt down and took reassuring hold of his arms. “Why does Eva pick on you, hmm?”

                He shrugged.

                “I bet it’s because you’re smart. Kids are always jealous of intelligence. I bet you always know the answers in school.”

                “I read a lot,” Luka replied sheepishly.

                “Exactly. That gets you places. It teaches you how to use that brain properly. So now all you’ve got to do is make sure you use it. _Think things through,_ okay Luka? I took away the time limit, so you can have as long as you like to solve the puzzles.”

                “You said I’d have help.”

                She nodded, standing, nervous. “And you will. I’m just about to go grab him. So there you go. Big brain, no time limit and a brave Fae to give you an extra hand. As I said: you’ve got this in the bag. Right?”

                His smile was reluctantly hopeful. “Right.”

                “Good boy. Now wait here and I’ll go to the Palace, fetch your assistant and send him to you.”

                “Thank you, your Majesty.”

She grinned, hoping she looked more confident than she felt. “Call me Sarah.”

 

* * *

 

 

As it turned out, he was quite a good card player.

                “You sure you aren’t cheating somehow?” Christopher asked, a dubious frown showing over his hand of cards.

                “How would I be cheating?” Jareth enquired. “I’ve never played before. I’m not even certain I understand all the rules yet.”

                “Exactly!” the boy exclaimed. “How is it you’re beating me and you’ve never even played Uno before?”

                “Beginner’s luck,” he replied with a shrug, laying down a Draw Four which earned him another turn and a groan from Christopher. A bird was whistling in the tree above them. Jareth copied the tune while waiting for the boy to pick up. It was a nice afternoon, with enough sun to take the edge off the chilled wind. They were in Hyde Park, lounging on a picnic blanket with a stash of snacks and games. Con was working a long shift and they had little else to do. He leaned back against the tree trunk behind him and closed his eyes, whistling along. It was a pretty tune, somehow nostalgic and bright at the same time. He envisioned owl feathers scattering to the wind.

                “Huh. Look at that.”

                “Hmm? What?” Jareth opened his eyes to find Christopher smiling and pointing at something just to the left of him. It was the bird, still whistling, only now hopping towards him as if curious. “Friendly little thing, isn’t it?”

                “He likes your song,” the boy said, carefully edging around for a closer look.

                “It wasn’t my song,” Jareth replied, stretching out a hand. The bird hopped backwards cautiously. “I was just copying his tune.”

                “At first, yeah. But then you started your own and he started copying _you_.” There was an uncertain pause. “Didn’t you notice that?”

                Jareth frowned. “No, I didn’t…” Where had he drawn that song from then?

                “Um. Jareth?”

                He looked up. The boy’s mouth hung open, eyes huge and round, finger pointing at something behind him. “What -?” he asked sharply, turning around to find a woman standing by the tree.

                She wore long skirts that rippled as she curtsied for him, and she was green. Not just the sickly shade you might find on someone ill, rather the colour of a pear that was not quite ripe enough to pick. From head to toe she was an unripe pear, bizarrely thin and sharp-angled. Her smile revealed pointed teeth, though it was polite enough to avoid a threatening feel.

                Jareth and Christopher blinked to see if she would disappear as suddenly as she’d arrived.

                “Your Royal Highness,” she said in reserved tones, clear and calm and dutiful. “Forgive my intrusion. You’ve been summoned by the Goblin King. I’m to return you to the Palace immediately.”

                More than anything he wanted to laugh, but then why was he feeling like too much sense was about to be made? Why was he not staring at the woman the way Christopher was or laughing like passers-by as if some joke was being played out?

                “Jareth…are you a King?” Christopher asked, barely containing his excitement. The boy had proven to harbour very little fear of the unusual.

                “No,” he replied shortly, though whether in response to the woman or the boy he didn’t know. The bird had flown away, disinterested, taking his song with it.

                “I’ve been told it’s a matter of grave importance,” the woman persisted. There was something annoyingly insipid in her expression, a lack of consciousness that irked him.

                Getting to his feet he took care in straightening his jacket, smoothing away hair from his face. He studied her keenly, aware of the way she froze under his gaze. “What are you?”

                “I’m an Elf, sir. A servant of the Palace. His Majesty Brynn Fel Vaden sent me to collect you.”

                “An Elf!” Christopher leapt to his feet joyously, but Jareth blocked his excited advance with an outstretched arm. “What? She’s wicked! Look at her Jareth!”

                “She’s a stranger,” he replied curtly.

                “No stranger than _you_ ,” the boy muttered, but kept back all the same. “Aren’t you going to go with her?”

                “And leave you on your own in the middle of the city? I don’t think so. What would your mother have to say?”

                “It’s a _park_ ,” Christopher argued with a roll of his eyes. “And I know the tube stations better than you do.” He tugged on Jareth’s jacket sleeve. “Besides, don’t you want to know what’s going on? She can tell you everything!”

                “Actually I have no further information,” the Elf – if that’s what she was – ventured benignly. “I’ve just been told to you collect you, and that you must be quick because it’s important.”

                “Well we’ll go see this Brian Vader then, and _he_ can tell us!”

                “Christopher.” Jareth’s tone had an edge to it.

                “What? What are you scared of?”

                With the uncanny knack for truth that children often had, the boy had pinned Jareth like a fly to a wall. He _was_ afraid. But of what? He’d been through nearly two weeks of feeling misplaced and stumbling through a world that didn’t seem like his own. What could be worse than having no identity, no purpose? _Hating the one you **do** find,_ he thought bitterly. What if his dreams were snippets of a terrible reality, of that world with monsters lurking in the dark and the woman always taunting him? What if he’d run away from it for a reason?

                “Jareth?”

                It was a different voice this time. A woman’s, pure as the earth but burdened with emotion. Roused from his thoughts, he looked up to find someone emerging from a mirror that hadn’t been there before. Christopher was in a manic state of joy beside him, jumping up and down, hanging restlessly off his jacket sleeve. Apparently this madness was everything a boy could hope for, but Jareth just felt cornered. The Elf stood to the side in the wake of the sun kissed creature stepping toward him. Everything about her was faded with sun exposure: her auburn air, rumpled clothes, skin that must have been milky white at some point long ago. The way she moved was reminiscent of a deer toward safety, wary but determined.

                Jareth felt an outpouring of affection take over him; his heart hummed at the sight of her.

                He had absolutely no idea who she was. “I don’t –”

                “You are Jareth El’Maven,” she interrupted, hands outstretched, almost upon him. “You are the Prince of the Fae Domain, son of Mira and Jaster El’Maven –” she pressed one palm flat against his heart and the other next to it, curled in a fist. Her voice was a whisper, spoken into the crook of his neck as she filled the space in his arms. “You are my brother, and you _remember_.”             

                At first, he didn’t. A heated shiver tingled all the way down his spine. Her words seemed another language, something like the sounds of the forest put into song. But then they rearranged themselves, _you remember_ , and he started to. Lina’s hair smelt of red earth and clay beneath his chin; she was warmer than he, as it had always been. She fit into his arms just as she had mere weeks ago, and as she had a century before that. Memories came like a river running downstream, pouring into him, filling him with light and love and heartache and grief and desperation and the complex mix of emotion that was his entire Fae existence. And then: _Sarah._ Watching him over a book in the library; scratching his head when she thought him asleep; arguing until she was red in the face; laughing at the mess made by drunken goblins. Enough memories of the woman he would never see again to weigh him down.

                “Lina,” he sighed, crushing her against him tightly, inhaling the scent of the only other woman he’d ever loved. She was here, somehow, it wasn’t a dream, and that was all that he could allow to matter.

 

* * *

 

 

She’d learnt three things upon finding herself transported to the Council Chambers.

                Firstly, she was _not_ magic.

                Secondly, Brynn had been watching and performing spells for her the entire time she’d been with Luka.

                Thirdly, the Fae Council was _not_ impressed by her new title.

                “Goblin Queen? A _human_? It’s impossible!” declared the majority of them in varying degrees of outrage.

                Sarah didn’t have the patience for them just at the moment. She was too busy trying to comprehend the enigma that was Brynn Fel Vaden. “I don’t understand why you’d do that,” she said loudly over the Councillors, trying to make it clear she was ignoring them. The Goblin King stood before her with a small mirror in his hand, which apparently he’d been using to watch her attempts at playing out her role. “You’re supposed to hate me. Why would you help me?”

                “I’m not _supposed_ to feel anything toward you,” he replied curtly. “And yet I can’t help but harbour a certain respect for the human who tamed the hordes without an ounce of magic in her veins.”

                “So you thought you’d just do some flashy illusions to give me a hand? Well I didn’t need your help,” she grumbled, picking at her shirtsleeve to avoid his gaze. “I was doing fine.”

                He was staring at her; she could feel it like an itch. “Why has this upset you so much?”

                “Because –” but there wasn’t a rational reason why she was upset. It was too sentimental for a Fae to understand. _Because I’m never going to see Jareth again. Because I thought, with what he’d done, that he’d somehow transferred his powers to me. Because I thought that I had a part of him with me. And it turns out I have nothing._ “I just – thought I could do fine on my own, that’s all.”

                “You’ve done more than fine,” Brynn told her levelly. His compliments were confusing: they often held no more emotion than if he were telling her the sky was blue. “But there are technicalities to this role that seem beyond your capabilities, vast as they are.”

                “She’s _human_ ,” hissed the tight-faced Councillor who resembled Brynn quite a lot. “The fact that she can’t even perform a simple transportation should be enough to make you see the absurdity of this.”

                “And yet I had the goblins eating out of my hands before I ever needed a few magic tricks for effect,” Sarah replied coolly.

                “She does have a point, Lady Ezra,” murmured one of the other Councillors.

                “She would have the point of a sword through her, if it were up to me!” Ezra said heatedly. Her face was turning a rather undignified shade of red.

                “A dagger in the back didn’t stop her,” replied another. “What makes you think a sword will do any better?”

The group of them closed into a tight circle and began a heated discussion, which suited Sarah just fine, who had her own things to deal with.

                “So I’m to be this boy’s assistant now, am I?”

                Surprised, she met Brynn’s curious expression with a wry smile. If she didn’t know any better she’d say he was almost amused, but that just wouldn’t be him. “So you _were_ paying attention then,” she replied, drawing him aside from the other Fae. She folded her arms around herself. “I couldn’t let him do it alone,” she admitted quietly. “I saw Jareth’s face every time he came back from that maze. It’s changed since I ran through it. I’m not letting a kid go through that on his own.”

                Brynn’s grey eyes flicked over the Fae arguing amongst themselves. A subtle frown pinched the corners of his mouth; if she hadn’t been watching she wouldn’t have noticed it appear. “You are ruled by sentiment,” he murmured in a tone that could very well have been disapproval.

                “It’s done me well so far, hasn’t it?” she countered defiantly.

                Did that frown disappear? It was hard to tell. The planes of his face were so hard. “It’s led you to this point, I’ll admit. But time will tell if I’ve made the wrong decision.”

                “What decision?”

                “To follow you.”

                Sarah snorted. “I’m not asking for _followers_ ,” she told him. “I just want someone tough to help a boy through a scary maze. I’m not starting a revolution.”

                “Aren’t you?”

                _No_ , she wanted to say. _I’m a twenty-five-year-old librarian. I’m not the leader of some fairy-world political party._ But then what had she been doing here for the past few months, if not changing the Fae Domain from the inside out? She’d broken sacred laws, made trouble for those in power, undermined Kings and Queens alike, made changes to a system that was older than her own grandfather. Wasn’t that what revolutionaries did?

                He took her silence as meaningful. “If I take part in this, it will be under your command,” he told her seriously. “This is not a small happenstance, Sarah.”

                “But – but I _killed_ your Queen!” she exclaimed. “How can you want to follow me?”

                “I’m loyal to a fault,” he said with a shrug. “And that fault may well be that my loyalty dies when my leader does.”

                “That’s not very reassuring.”

                He shrugged again. It was a stiff gesture from such a tightly-coiled figure. “It’s all you’ve got.”

                “Fair enough. So you’ll do it then? Go make sure Luka gets through this okay?”

                He nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

                She thanked him earnestly, and then hesitated. “So what now? You go help him and I just sit with the support squad over there and wait?”

                He held the mirror out for her. It was a small square thing, silver plated and rather plain. In its reflection gleamed a tiny image of Luka on the hill, waiting in the wind. Her heart went out to him. “You keep watch,” he said. “Over him _and_ your goblins.”

                “I didn’t want to do it, just so you know,” she told him in a murmur, returning his gaze with what she hoped was an honest and regretful expression. “It was Keel that she pushed too far, in the end. Keel needed me to go along with it…” she traced a thumb along the ridges of the mirror, muscles twitching with the sudden urge to sob. “But I just couldn’t do it, I couldn’t – and now they’re both gone anyway, after everything…”

                “You are capable of many things, Sarah Williams,” Brynn told her after a moment of soft silence. “But I didn’t quite believe that murder was one of them. What happened to the Elf was unfortunate, but I do think it will mean changes you can’t fathom just yet.”

                She didn’t want to have to _fathom_ anything. Sleeping for the rest of her life in a big comfortable bed seemed a good idea right then. But no, there was still work to do, always something, and so Sarah cradled the mirror close and took a seat on the floor. When Brynn disappeared she huddled over the scenery in the glass, waiting for him to appear. “Good luck,” she murmured once the pair were in conversation on the hill. After a short while, when they’d gone through the gates together, she felt someone standing behind her. “Have you decided to stick a knife in me yet?” she asked casually over her shoulder, eyes glued to the mirror.

                “We’ve decided against it for now.” The voice was smooth and deep, yet distinctly female. It belonged to a Fae adorned in so much silver that she seemed to glow with it. Her hair was the colour of ivory, eyes pale grey; she wore an array of bracelets that jangled as she took a seat beside Sarah. Even sitting on the floor she was graceful, feet tucked delicately beneath the folds of her silver gown. She blinked slowly at Sarah through long lashes that were framed by shimmering facial marks. “I can’t say we didn’t discuss it at length.”

                “At lease you’re honest,” Sarah replied dryly, determined to ignore the feeling that she was no more than a baby next to the glimmering Fae.

                “And so are you, it seems,” the woman replied, making no effort to hide her scrutiny of Sarah. “My companions don’t think it appropriate for a human to be Goblin Queen.”

                “And you do?”

                The bracelets jangled together again like chimes; she swept a lock of hair from her shoulders. “I understand their concerns for tradition,” she replied slowly. “But I also listen to reason over ritual. The fact that Brynn Fel Vaden has taken to you speaks volumes, even if the others refuse to hear.”

                “I wouldn’t say he’s taken to me,” Sarah replied offhandedly. “He’s pretty much a stone. I think he respects me, as much as a stone can respect anything.”

                “He think more highly of you than you know; you don’t understand our world.”

                “I don’t think I ever will,” Sarah murmured quietly, eyes flicking back to the mirror. “The things you people do…I’ve seen a lot dark stuff since I’ve been here _.” Jareth splattered in blood. The list of a hundred dead children. Keel with her eyes so full of fire, even as she died._ “I don’t think I’ll ever be the same.”

                “You can’t hope to be an efficient ruler if you’re affected by every little thing that happens to you.”

                “I don’t believe that,” Sarah told her firmly. “How can you live for hundreds of years and not change the way you think about things? That’s a pretty close-minded way to exist. No wonder you need our dreams to keep you going.”

                “So you’re happy to suffer, then? You _enjoy_ being weighed down by all your unpleasant experiences?”

                “That’s not what it’s about.” In the mirror, Luka was treading lightly through the maze in search of unseen openings. Brynn wasn’t far behind him, reserved and stiff-shouldered as ever. “You _learn_ more from hardships if you experience them on emotional levels. You learn more about people, and about yourself and your community…I wouldn’t have been able to do what I did with the hordes if I’d been going through life the way Fae do. I can see things you can’t, things you refuse to see.”

                “Such as?”

                “How much potential humans have, how brave and strong and compassionate we are. How you should respect us, and maybe be a little afraid too, if necessary. We’re not stupid just because we’re not as old as you.” Luka had found an opening into the second part of the maze and was carefully feeling his way through. _Smart boy._ Brynn hardly seemed to move, following silently along, yet she had the feeling he was on guard. “And that goes for Elves too, by the way.”

                _Elves._

“Oh crap, Wick!” she exclaimed, “I forgot about Wick!”

                “What’s a Wick?” asked her Fae companion irritably.

                “He’s my friend and he’s been waiting for me to – crap, I forgot – Wick! Wick, my Elf friend! I’m calling on you! I need you!”

                The Council had whirled around to stare at her as she shouted, so the poor Elf arrived with more than a few sharp eyes trained on him. Not that he seemed to notice, jumping out of a mirror and throwing himself at Sarah with abandon.

                “I’ve been _looking everywhere_!” he cried, almost angry in his desperation. His grip was painful; hard angles and bones jutted against her. “I thought you were _dead;_ I thought we’d have to storm the castle to rescue you or – or – Fates Above, you’ve got problems with communication, Sarah Williams –” the sight of the Council made him freeze instantly.

                She patted his back, amused and overjoyed, because it had been too long since she’d heard that wonderfully snarky True Self voice.

                “Sarah,” the Elf murmured in a panicked tone. “We’re – we’re in the Council Chambers. The – the Fae Council –”

                “It’s all sorted,” she told him quickly, hugging him reassuringly. He was sharp and thin in her arms but she couldn’t bring herself to let go. “At least for now. I don’t know what’s going to happen when Luka and Brynn get back.”

                It seemed they were an island, the two of them in a midst of Fae with only each other for support. They stood together, arms encircling one another, both too overwhelmed to move. “Everything’s gone crazy, Wick,” she whispered against his cheek, finally able to voice her worries to someone who would care. “I don’t want to be the Goblin Queen. I can’t do this. I just want…I just want to go home and cry. I’m sick of being strong.”

                “It’s strange…Keel says that a lot with her eyes. I can tell, even if she’s never spoken it aloud.”

                _Oh, god. Keel._ She’d forgotten. _How_ had she forgotten? “Wick,” she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. “I…Keel…she –”

                “I can feel it,” he murmured hoarsely, suddenly tense in her grasp. “I’ve been feeling it for hours now, but I wasn’t…I didn’t realise what it…” He pressed his face into the top of her head. “She was my blood, Sarah. My blood.”

                “I know. I’m sorry, Wick. I’m so sorry.” _It’s my fault. Tell him! Tell him it’s your fault._ Her cheek was damp against his collarbone. “I think it was…she died saving my life. Mira…the Queen –”

                “It always comes back to her.” His voice harder than it had been before. She found herself standing without his support, skin growing cold with his sudden distance. “I’m glad she’s dead. I hope she died slowly –”

                “Wick,” Sarah hissed, eyeing the Councillors flashing him dangerous glares. “Be careful –”

                He shrugged off her attempt to touch him. “I hope it _hurt!_ ” he cried. “I don’t care! I hope she felt every second of the last few miserable moments of her wretched, unfeeling life –”

                The Fae were advancing on him with murder in their eyes, cries of outrage pouring forth. “You overstep your place, Elf!” one of them snapped. “Just because the Williams girl is here –”

                “He’s _grieving!_ ” Sarah interrupted, throwing her arms wide as if to keep them at bay. Wick wept behind her. She stood between him and the Fae. “He’s lost someone he loves! Yes, I’m the Williams girl and I’m here, so you’d better believe I won’t let you touch him. Back the hell off!”

                To her surprise, they did. Or maybe that wasn’t such a surprise anymore, given the command she seemed to be accruing. They didn’t stop glaring, or uttering threats, but they did halt their advance and regroup in a circle. Only the silver Fae kept apart, eyeing Sarah and Wick curiously. Sarah paid none of them any further attention. She threw her arms around Wick, trying to convey that he wasn’t alone in his grief.

 

* * *

 

 

How was he supposed to grieve the loss of such a complicated relationship?

                The simple answer was that he didn’t. And in truth, if Jareth was really honest, he could hardly summon the energy to feel much over the fact of his mother’s death. The cost of agonising over every little detail of their relationship for the last two centuries was not worth the small scrap of closure it would afford. So when Lina told him about Mira’s murder he had nothing to say. He felt hollow inside – with a distinct lack of emotion, not with loss. He drew her further into his arms and inhaled the smell of his gritty spring sister.

                “Are you all right?” Lina asked him.

                “She hasn’t been our mother for a long time. I’ve hated her too much to grieve now. What about you?”

                “I just…missed Fa, when they told me. And then I asked where you were.” Her voice was small but sure against his throat, pressed into his neck. Her grip around his waist restricted his breathing. “I thought you were dead you idiot,” she hissed. “They wouldn’t tell me what happened, and I hadn’t heard from you, and you – you were up here, playing cards with a child and singing to the birds as if nothing was amiss!”

                “Are you mad at me? For being _banished_ , Lina?” He smiled into the top of her hair.

When she pulled back to look at him there was no hint of amusement on her face. “No, I just...I’m trying to distract us,” she said quietly.

“From what?”

“What I have to tell you.”

                He felt as if a Domain winter wind had just brushed down his spine. “What?”

                “It’s about Sarah. She’s running the Labyrinth, Jareth.”

                _A thousand teeth and the hot stench of fresh blood and the decay of life and vile creatures stalking shadows –_ “ _Why_? Who did she wish away? What happened?” There was a bitter taste in the back of his throat; panic infused his every nerve. “I have to go to her. Nobody survives the Labyrinth anymore –” she blocked his path and took a firm hold of his wrist, keeping him in place.

                “She’s not a _runner_ , Jareth. She’s _running_ it.”

                He blinked slowly. “I don’t understand.”

                “Sarah is the Goblin Queen,” she told him sadly. “Or at least, she’s trying to be. I don’t know what’s happened since we’ve been here.”

                “Brynn put her on the Throne?” he snarled, vicious fury licking his insides with fire. What was the bastard playing at, messing with her like that? “He put _my_ Sarah in charge of that slaughterhouse? I’ll strip the skin from him like an orange, I’ll rip his throat out and feed him to the hordes –”

                Lina shook his arm roughly. “He didn’t put her in power, Jareth,” she told him loudly, cutting off his heated tirade. “The goblins did. They demanded that she be their leader.”

                “ _What_?”

                 “Something’s happening that we need to be a part of. Everything’s about to change because of her.”

                Jareth stared at Lina, enfolding her calloused hand in his own. She was filthy and looked exhausted. She was beautiful and she would be Queen. “You’re the heir to the Domain Throne, Lina…”

                She smiled without mirth. “Yes. But you know, I didn’t come here just to see my brother. I think Sarah’s going to need you.”

                Something fluttered deep in his soul at the possibility that maybe, just _maybe_ , he would be with Sarah in the end. Whatever ‘the end’ promised. “Not half as much as I’ve needed her,” he murmured.

                “Wow.”

                The two Fae were stirred from their conversation by an excited clapping. The Elf had vanished, apparently finding herself made redundant, but Christopher stood grinning at them with pure childish joy. “That was the coolest thing I’ve _ever_ seen,” he said emphatically, jumping on the spot. “Jareth, you’re a _Prince!_ And your girlfriend is the Goblin Queen, and your sister is a princess and – and – I can’t believe you didn’t remember any of this, it’s _mad –_ ”

                “Christopher,” Jareth cut in, kneeling before the boy. “Believe me, I’m very happy I could fulfil your boyhood imaginings…but you need to keep it a secret for me. A little discretion, hmm?”

                His grin didn’t waver in the slightest but he forced his wriggling body into stillness. Leaning in conspiratorially, Christopher patted Jareth on the shoulder. “Gotcha,” he whispered loudly with a wink. “You know, besides the fact your sister and a green girl just came through a magical mirror in the middle of Hyde Park.”

                Lina snorted behind them. “He’s got a point, brother. It’s a little late for discretion.”

                “Oh.” They _were_ being stared at. The boy’s enthusiasm had brought some attention. “And who’s fault is that, sister?” Jareth straightened and blew the hair from his face.

                “I wasn’t waiting around in that Palace when I knew you were here!”

                “It doesn’t matter,” Jareth replied with a wave of his hand. “I can unravel my time here when we leave.”

                “Does…does that mean I’ll forget you?” Christopher asked, disappointed.

                “I’ll spare you, Super Boy,” he assured him with a wink. “Though for his own good, I’ll let Con forget me. I think I caused the poor lad enough trouble.”

                “Visit me, won’t you?”

                “Of course, little man. I’ll be around from time to time.”

                Lina put a hand on Jareth’s shoulder. “We should go.”

                He nodded, making a motion with his hand to conjure up a gateway.

                Nothing happened.

                Frowning, Jareth tried again. Still nothing. He tried unravelling the threads of Time around his last few weeks here. He tried just conjuring an _apple_ , to see if he could. The memories of how to perform spells were still there in his mind but he couldn’t do anything with them. “Hmm.”

                “I’ll do it,” Lina said hurriedly, taking his arm. “You’re probably a little rusty. It’ll come to you, don’t worry.”

                He nodded, buoyed along by his sister’s reassuring presence and the promise of finding Sarah again. But as Lina conjured the gateway and they stepped through, he felt no single touch of the magic that had once surrounded him.

 


	16. Face The Strange: Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updaaaaate!! Hooray!!! I had so much fun working on this one. But then I got stuck, and had to pester GutterKitty for inspiration. And even just talking with her briefly helped get my brain going again, so thankyou!   
> (Also an update: the Bowie exhibition was freaking mindblowing and left me feeling inspired and awed and lost all at once).

**Face the Strange: Part Three**

 

 

  _“What’s wrong, love?”_

_It was a day for celebration, not tears. Yet his wife rubbed at her eyes as if denying them relief and went about fixing her hair. “Nothing,” she told him. “I’m fine.”_

_“Hmm, and yet why don’t I believe you?” He abandoned his attempts at fitting the corsage to his lapel – it looked absurd anyway – and stood behind her at the mirror. She was divine on any occasion but especially barely dressed as she was. A towel wrapped hastily around her showed far too much skin to count as clothing. He would have been enjoying it, that was, if not for the tension in her frame and the slight shake to her fingers. He stilled her hand and brought it up to his lips for a kiss. “Sarah. What’s the matter?”_

_Her reflection quivered. “Keel should be here for this. They loved each other so much.” Sarah’s voice was hard, forced that way, to keep from breaking. He knew her well. “But she’s not.” She toyed idly with a scattering of hairpins. “And it’s my fault. It doesn’t matter how many years it’s been; I can’t forget that it’s my fault.”_

_“Oh, love.” He bent and kissed her cheek, making eye contact in the mirror. He hated the way she burdened herself. “Wick’s forgiven you. And so have Tork and Rade and Brax. Shouldn’t that be enough to let you forgive yourself?”_

_She shook her head against his lips. “She died saving me.” Her eyes were glistening in the mirror. “ **You** nearly died, saving me. And Lina –”_

_“Lina did what she **wanted** to do,” he interrupted before that guilt train could take its course. “That’s how she’s always behaved. It’s far too late to change her or anything that’s happened, so why torture yourself now? On today, of all days?”_

_Her hand pulled him close; she leant into his hips and his arm around her shoulder. “She looks older than you, now.” Her sigh was borne of a guilt stretched out for decades._

_“And yet no older than Wick, precious, which is what truly counts. She won’t outlive him this way.”_

_“I know she’s probably happy with the choices she made. I just…it’s hard not to see the faces of people you’ve let down sometimes; you know?”_

_“Of course I do, pet.” He kissed her hair. “You know I do.”_

_That_ particular future memory was loaded with enough intrigue to make her head spin. Sarah sat beside Wick on the floor, his head resting on her shoulder. His was a mournful silence, contemplative and forlorn. His cheekbone dug painfully into her but she allowed him the small comfort of leaning into a friend. Resurfacing from the vision, she laid a hand on his arm but said nothing. Would Tork and the other cousins know what had happened to Keel? Would her whole family have felt her death the way Wick had? She was relieved to be distracted by a sound from the mirror that lay beside her. Relieved until she picked it up and peered into the glass.

                Luka was being sealed into a box, brick by brick. The sound had been his scream.

                There was no visible force creating the small prison, yet layer by layer bricks were building themselves up around him. He didn’t seem able to move, tears streaking the dirt on his face. Brynn was crouched beside him. He would have seemed unflappable if she hadn’t noticed that his hands were cut and scratched, probably from trying to pull the bricks apart. Sarah concentrated hard and listened for their voices.

                _“I can’t do it!”_

_“Yes you can. You’ve done everything else. I can’t stop the bricks, boy. You need to do it yourself.”_

_“I can’t!”_

_“You’re panicking. That won’t get you anywhere.”_

_“But – I won’t be able to breathe –”_

The gilded handle was probably going to leave an imprint in her skin, the way Sarah was gripping the mirror. She licked her dry lips, unable to move as she felt Wick stir beside her and ask what was wrong. “Remind him what I said,” she whispered. “Remind him how smart he is.”

She could have sworn Brynn heard her. He laid a hand against the ever-growing brick wall and spoke more quietly to the boy.

                _“What did the Goblin Queen tell you to do?”_

_“She – she said to call her Sarah.”_

_“And what did Sarah tell you to do?”_

_“To…to think things through.”_

_“And what are you doing, right now?”_

_“…I just want to go home…”_

_“ **Luka** , what are you doing? Are you thinking or are you panicking?”_

_“I’m…I’m panicking.”_

_“Exactly. And that’s why the bricks are moving faster. Stop. Breathe.”_

_“Okay.”_

_“Good. Now just think about this. Forget the bricks. All you have to do is answer the riddle and you’ll be free.”_

_“Just…just answer the riddle?”_

_“That’s what I said. So think. Think hard.”_

                And he did, that clever boy. He closed his eyes against the rising walls and murmured to himself. Sarah was glued to the scene, mouth forming silent encouragement. The bricks slowed gradually while he thought, finally coming to a stop as Luka cried the answer triumphantly. Sarah let out a cheer that seemed to echo through the Labyrinth; Brynn looked searchingly around for her while the boy beamed proudly. Clambering over the brick walls looked a challenge: Luka wasn’t tall enough to climb out. To her complete surprise, Sarah watched as Brynn leant over and carefully lifted the boy out before proceeding to check him over for scratches. It was oddly paternal and made her smile, even if the Fae did stand quickly and suggest gruffly that they move on. 

                “He’s doing well I take it?” Wick asked softly beside her, moving to have a look in the mirror.

                “He is,” she replied hesitantly. “I just don’t know what’s coming up next, which worries me.” _Maybe I could just stop in and walk with him for a bit._

“You can’t do anymore for him,” Wick said warningly, as if reading her thoughts. “The goblins won’t tolerate you openly helping a runner.”

                She exhaled loudly and knocked a shoulder against his. “Who said I was going to help him?”

                “It’s written all over your face, Sarah. You’re a bleeding heart.”

                “That’s not a bad thing, is it?”

                “It is if you don’t learn to draw a line,” said the voice of the silver Fae. She’d appeared soundlessly before them with a hard gaze on Sarah. “The principle of balancing emotion in your ruling is one matter, but losing all pretence and assisting the humans will lose you points with the hordes.”

                “Fine, I’ll leave the eleven-year-old kid on his own with Brynn the stone man!” Sarah exclaimed defensively.

                “They seem to be doing well as a team,” Wick told her soothingly while the Fae simply shook her head.

                “It’s just hard not to want to protect my own,” Sarah sighed.

                “Now _that_ is a sentiment I can understand,” said the Fae, taking a seat gracefully with them.

                “Really?” Sarah replied in surprise.

                “Of course. You forget our reasons for being so unforgiving when it comes to the Labyrinth and the hordes.” She toyed with one of her many bracelets, studying it with a far-away expression. “I’ve seen what the goblins are capable of when out of control, and have no wish to see it again. We are entrusting you with the safety of the Domain, Miss Williams. If you can’t set aside your need to save every child outright, you will spoil the balance and endanger us all. Your reign will end no differently than Jareth’s did.” Her eyes scanned the room and settled on a Fae amidst the Councillors. He looked her male counterpart, draped in navy to her silver. “My brother Dovail is hot-headed and commanding, and you may think us uncaring creatures, but I do care for him, and I would not wish to see him torn apart for your mistakes.”

                The reality of her situation settled like a dreadful weight on her shoulders. The room of stone and marble felt claustrophobic and stifling, her vision blurring and skin prickling. “I need some air,” she muttered, getting to her shaky feet and heading for the door. Outside in the hall, she gulped deep breaths of air and hugged herself tightly. _“I would not wish to see him torn apart for your mistakes.”_ She hadn’t considered what would happen beyond getting Luka through the Labyrinth. They expected her to stay and actually _be_ the Goblin Queen…she’d be responsible for keeping them in line so they didn’t kill everyone. A very strong urge to run and hide overcame her but she forced it down.

                “They listened to you today, didn’t they?” she said to herself. “Who’s to say you haven’t got it under control for good?”

                But then on the heels of that thought: _they want to me **stay here**. They want **me**. To **stay**. **Here.** _ The urge to run suddenly welled up alongside the desire to vomit. What was she going to do, settle down in that big empty castle and sit on that throne for the next sixty years? Or a hundred, or more, given that she had no idea what Jareth’s transference had done to her. What about her life in the Above? What about the library and her father and siblings and her friend Vicki and that crazy good coffee from Joe’s Diner and going out on Saturday nights and –

                It was too much. They couldn’t do this to her. They couldn’t just stick a crown on her head and tell her she had no say in the matter. Didn’t anybody care what _she_ wanted for a future? They argued over whether she should be Goblin Queen as if it were a reward, as if it meant she _deserved_ it. Didn’t she deserve a freaking _break_ after saving them all from a murderous rebellion?

                And what about Jareth, banished to her old world – what the hell was happening to him right now? He could be hurt and starving and helpless in a place where he stood out like a sore thumb. What would people make of him? There’d been a final shred of secret hope she’d been harbouring, too: what if she returned Above and went looking for him? It could take years, but she had them. She had _his_ years. Plenty of time to search the world for the man she loved.

                But not if she was trapped on a throne Underground.

                It was a suffocating thought that couldn’t be solved by running away. But the hallway was closing in on her, and just inside the Chambers she could hear the further arguments of the Fae, and Wick’s voice calling as he came looking for her, and goddammit all if Sarah didn’t just up and run off anyway.

 

* * *

 

 

She wasn’t there.

                Councillors closed in on him, demanding an explanation, judging and accusing and arguing though he hadn’t yet said a word. The Chambers reminded him of Lina’s trial and his own, of the uproar as one human woman had saved his life and the disdain thrown at a princess in love with an Elf. Voices clamoured for attention; Lina’s attempts at warding them off did little; the absence of his magic was magnified a hundredfold now that he was back in the Domain. But none of it mattered because _she wasn’t there_. And she had been, just minutes ago, according to Wick.

                “You can’t just return with one of the Banished as if his exile were of no meaning, Lina El’Maven.” That was Ezra’s voice, full of nothing and fierce for it. “You aren’t Queen yet.”

                “You know that doesn’t matter,” Lina replied coldly, hand still tucked into the crook of his elbow. “I _will_ be and I’m Pardoning him.”

                “You think to have your own way like some silly child?” That was Dovail, voice as deep as his sister’s and more than a little overheated. “Your mother ruled without bias –”

                “My mother ruled without _heart!_ ” Lina exclaimed. “There’s a world of difference between the two.”

                “He’s a liability! If the hordes find out he’s here –”

                Jareth ignored them all. Disentangling himself from Lina with gentle care, he headed for the door. His steps were sure, his expression barely managing to conceal longing. He’d missed Sarah by the blink of an eye, yet it felt like it could have been years since she took flight. His entire existence called out to her as he brushed through the archway into the hall. It was painfully empty but he didn’t let that deter him for one second. She was the answer, he knew, to the void he was feeling inside. He couldn’t conjure, transport, create illusions or touch Time. Lina said it would come back to him but…he knew that was more kindness than truth.

Sarah was the new kind of magic that would fill his veins, if only he could find her.

 

The Palace was a maze in its own right, a twisting marble puzzle filled with scurrying people still searching for a dead Queen. It was enough to blur her vision, make her head spin. And then there was that damn heady air bursting with rich pollen scents that made her want to be sick. How anyone could think clearly in a cloud of perfume like that was beyond her. When Sarah finally happened upon an empty balcony, senses irritated beyond imagination and insides twisted to knots, she collapsed against the railings with immeasurable relief. It took a few minutes for the heaving of her stomach to subside and for her hands to cease their trembling against the marble balustrade.

                The view was fairly ordinary for where she was, a field of green decorated with statues. Compared to the stagnancy of her last few venues it seemed incredibly beautiful. Maybe it was just the fresh air. Sarah half-sat and half-fell onto the balcony floor, slipping her legs between the bannisters so that they hung over the edge. She wound her hands around them and pressed her face into the marble, soothed by its cool touch. A spring wind kissed her hair. What the hell was she meant to do about…about any of it? There seemed no obvious answers, which was probably why she sat there in the first place.

                “What are you doing?”

                “Jesus,” she swore softly, jumping at Brynn’s voice behind her. She didn’t turn around but there was no mistaking the careful timbre of the stone man. “Leave me alone.” There was no fire left in her, no strength, just a sighed plea.

                “You can’t just walk away in the middle of a run.”

                “Says who?” she mumbled, running a finger along the seam of her shorts. The field was pretty, actually, in its simplicity. Fresh and luminescent and with nothing at all in it to remind her of goblins or mazes.

                “Responsibility does,” he replied stonily. Though he stood over her, she noticed that he didn’t seem to loom. Maybe she just didn’t find him intimidating anymore. “There are vicious goblins out there waiting and watching to see how you go about ruling them. They are to going judge your worth from this, and the Fates help you if they find you lacking.”

                “Can I not have five fucking minutes to myself?” she replied, exasperated. “Five minutes without judgements and duty and life or death situations springing themselves on me? Jesus, Brynn, I’m only fucking human.”

                “That’s not an excuse,” he told her with surprising vehemence. “You have boasted your humanity as an advantage this entire time; if you start recanting the strength of that now you’re going to lose everything.”

                “Haven’t I already lost enough?”

                “There’s no limit to cost, Sarah. You think there is, but believe me you will never stop running out of things to have taken from you.”

                “If this is supposed to be a pep talk you’re doing it wrong.” Still she kept her eyes trained on the garden, on the grass and the sky and the only things not tainted by nasty truth. Yet she could feel as he shifted and took a seat beside her on the floor.

                “Luka’s in an oubliette,” he announced blankly. When she gave no response, he continued. “You aren’t allowed to interfere directly with his progress, but I thought you would have found a way to encourage him nonetheless. He’s trapped, Sarah, and he needs assistance.”

                “Yeah, I know the feeling.”

                “I never thought you capable of selfishness.”

                She whirled around to glare at him, knuckles white along the ridges of her sudden fists. “Do you know why I’m hiding?” she spat. “Because if I mess this up Luka dies, Eva Neese dies, your stupid emotionless people will be overrun, my friends will be killed and I may as well throw myself over this balcony for all the good I could do to stop it! Who can handle those kinds of consequences? This is a no-win situation, Brynn. If I help Luka, then I’m stuck here as Goblin Queen. If I blow it everyone suffers. I just want to go _home_. I’ve had enough of not having a choice.”

                “You’ve had choices the entire time you’ve been here,” he said in a tone quieter, if no less hard. “You could have refused to take part in Mira’s schemes no matter her hold over your siblings. You could have let her die in the City without trying to stop it. You have bent the will of others around you to _give_ yourself those choices.” His expression softened just the smallest bit under her stare, a rock wall crumbling. “I don’t understand you, but I know the things you’ve done have been brave. And I know that I haven’t misplaced my faith in you. So stand up, come back to the Chamber and help this boy through the Labyrinth. If not for anyone’s sake but your own. I don’t know you well, but I doubt your conscience bears failure easily.”

                There was still a part of her that resisted, though she swelled with feeling at his words. “But if I come back and do it right, I’ll still be stuck here.”

                A ghost of something whispered across his face, a fraction of a smile. “Says who?”

                “Don’t give me anymore false hope,” she said crossly, not in the mood for him to suddenly find some semblance of humour. “I’ve been living off that for months and I’m sick of it.”

                “I’m not giving you anything,” Brynn replied quickly, getting to his feet. “Just remember that you’ve usually been able to find a third way when only given two.”

                He was right, in a way. She’d made a mess of things, but only because she’d refused to play the game in black and white. Maybe mess was a good thing, if it meant she could hide in the rabble and get away with something for herself. And maybe that thing was a little piece of her own freedom. That word brought her mind back to Luka, and what and who he was running the maze for. He was, like her, some young fool who’d made a silly wish and now had to live out the consequences. Even if she was still living out hers, years later, it was all the same story. You did your best with what you had, because of the choices you’d made. “I’m not making a big glittery entrance,” she grumbled, ignoring Brynn’s proffered hand as she stood. “That was always Jareth’s thing.”

                “You can do whatever you’d like,” the Fae replied, holding out an arm so he could transport them.

                Sarah resisted the urge to roll her eyes, laying a hand on him. If only that were true. “Wait!” she cried quickly, an idea coming to her. _She_ couldn’t directly help Luka, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t send in people who could. “Take us back to the Castle first. I know someone who’s good with oubliettes.”

 

* * *

 

 

She didn’t like the way the Councillors were looking at the Elf.

                It was a disdainful, disapproving, vaguely threatening sort of look they shared among themselves. The only one not doing so was Marina, and that seemed only because she was too invested in arguing with her brother. He looked so alone, the Elf – _Wick, I think that’s his name –_ sitting against the stone wall as far back from the Fae as he could get. A sense of protectiveness drove her toward him, skirts swishing against the marble and stone. He balked at her appearance over him and even more so as she folded her legs neatly beside him. She shot a glare at the Councillors which seemed to soften their reproach somewhat, before smiling gently at the Elf. He had nice eyes, kind and deep but sad.

                “I’m sure my brother will find Sarah soon enough,” she told him. “I wouldn’t worry too much.”

                He didn’t answer immediately. He was toying with a leather band on his wrist, a woven piece of black that stood out starkly against his green skin. When he looked up at her, those kind eyes were deeper than ever. “Your mother murdered my cousin,” he said.

                All her years as a peacekeeper felt useless in that moment. What logical argument could hold up in the face of that heartbroken expression? It was one thing to organise a treaty between warring tribes; it was another to see the victim of a crime close up. Not that she hadn’t done her fair share of holding villagers in their final death throes…but this Elf had been wronged by her own _mother_. It was an intimacy that made her skin prickle uncomfortably. “I’m so sorry,” she said quietly, uneasy with how little that was worth. “I’m going to put things right. I know the ways my mother has hurt your people and –”

                “She tried to kill Sarah,” Wick interrupted with a careful severity that halted Lina’s apology. “Sarah didn’t want her to be eaten by the hordes, so she ordered them to stop and bring her back up to safety. But Mira took Keel’s knife, and went for Sarah, and Keel stopped her. They fell off the platform into the City.” He blinked solemn eyes at her. “She used my cousin to break her fall.” He pressed a hand to his forehead and visibly stifled a sob. “Do you know what the worst part is? Sarah thinks it’s her fault but she was just doing the right thing. She’s always going to blame herself. I don’t want her to live with that; I’m not even angry at her. I’m mad at _myself_. Every move I’ve made has led us to this point. It’s my fault that Keel was involved in the first place.”

                She thought of the years she’d spent falling in love with Kiff. All their conversations, their arguments, the way he would sing to her, the nights she would sneak to his bed. If she hadn’t loved him, he’d still be alive. Tears stung at her eyes; she let them fall. “I wish I could bring her back,” she whispered. “I wish there was some forgotten corner of Fae history that told me how to raise the dead.”

“Keel wanted change more than any of us. Just do that, and do it for her. Please.”

                Lina promised him with the same fervour she’d felt when giving her heart to Kiff.

 

* * *

 

 

Eva Neese didn’t look like a bully. Not right now, anyway, in these circumstances. She was probably formidably gormless in her own habitat, beating on kids in the playground. Here though, in the Castle dungeon, she just looked like a beefy young girl scared out of her wits. Sarah couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. It made her glad that Toby had been too young to remember his own experience, even if Jareth had reassured her he’d been well looked after. This was still no place for a child.

                “Hi Eva,” Sarah called softly through the bars.

                Her snivelling stopped. “Who – who are you?”

                “I’m here to help you, don’t worry. My name is Sarah. I’m sorry you got put down here.” She glared at Brynn. “What psycho decided it was necessary to lock her up in a cell?” she demanded.

                “It’s protocol,” the Fae replied. “A default place for them to go if nobody intercepts.”

                “Well get her out,” she said angrily. “Jesus Brynn, she’s just a kid.”

                Wordlessly Brynn waved a hand over the lock; the cell gate slid open with a grating, rasping sound that made Sarah’s teeth ache. She stepped into the dimly lit cell with an encouraging smile on her face. The girl was crumpled in a corner, her blonde braids ragged over a tear-stained, square-jawed face. The terror in her eyes softened her somewhat brutish appearance. “It’s all right Eva, I promise I’m here to help you.”

                “Where _am_ I?” Eva sniffed, making no move to stand. “I was at the park…”

                “You’re in my Castle. My uh…Goblin Castle. Sorry.”

                The mention of goblins sent the girl into a fit of wild sobbing. Sarah cursed under her breath for the stupid mistake and hurried over to Eva. “But it’s okay, it’s okay, really!” she laid a hand on her shoulder softly. “I’m their boss, you see, and they listen to me. And I told them they aren’t allowed to hurt anybody anymore.”

                “That’s not what it says in the stories!” Eva wailed.

                “Well the Castle is under new management,” Sarah told her firmly. “ _My_ management.”

                “Who’s that?” Eva pointed at Brynn.

                Sarah couldn’t resist a smirk. “He works for me,” she said smugly, daring the Fae to object.

                He quirked an eyebrow, and shifted a little restlessly, but said nothing.

                “Besides, there aren’t any goblins actually in the Castle yet,” she continued to the girl soothingly. “There were, but they’re my friends. Good guys. I swear.”

                “Where – where are they?” Eva asked, eyes casting about as if expecting to be mauled any second.

                “I sent them to help out Luka. He’s been going through a bit of trouble because of you.”

                “L-Luka? What do you mean?”

                Sarah’s voice was gentle but insistent. “I think you know, Eva.”

                Her eyes widened with sudden realisation. “He _wished me away_ to the goblins?”

                “Yep. Because you upset him so much by picking on him all the time. And now the poor kid is running the Labyrinth trying to win you back because he feels bad and wants to save you. How about that?”

Eva considered this. She looked decidedly guilty, which Sarah had to admit was a little satisfying. Still, she helped the shaky girl to her feet and into the dungeon corridor. “Come on, I’ll get you something to eat and we can wait somewhere a bit nicer than here.”

It was a bizarre scene: the suburban dressed Sarah half-carrying a shivering German girl through the dungeons of a Castle in the company of a stony-faced Fae. Was this as normal as her life was going to get from now in? But then, Brynn had hinted at something before. Was it possible for her to go back to her old life after this? Or did he mean she could find some kind of balance? It was too much of a headache to think about for the moment. She saved her brainpower for the present. “Eva, why do you give Luka such a hard time?”

Eva seemed in no state to answer that question as they traipsed further through the stone corridors. She was too busy staring wild-eyed around every corner, just waiting for something to snatch at her. It _was_ a lot for an eleven-year-old to take in.

“You’re pretty lucky he’s such a nice boy, you know,” she persisted. “If I was you, I’d rather have him as a friend than a victim. Don’t you think, Brynn?”

                Behind her, the Fae seemed put out at being included. He didn’t look the sort to have much experience talking with kids. “He seems amiable enough,” he answered gruffly, following with an awkward cough.

                “See? Even Brynn thinks so. And it’s not easy to get on Brynn’s good side.” She thought of Luka, of all the small kids who didn’t fit in that Eva had probably picked on in her life. “And, by the way, you do _not_ want to get on his bad side either.” What the hell. She may as well have a little fun with it. “I did, and he killed me! It didn’t quite take though, obviously. I mean, I’m here, right?”

                This seemed to sufficiently change the girl’s mind. “I’ll be nice!” she blubbered, “I promise! I won’t pick on anyone anymore! I’m sorry!”

                Damn. Guilt suffused her immediately at the panic in the girl’s voice. So maybe Sarah _wasn’t_ a good bad guy, in any way. “I know,” she said hurriedly, laying an arm around the girl’s shoulder as they made it to the kitchen. “I know you won’t Eva. You’re a good kid too, deep down.” She helped her into a chair and went through the cupboards for some snacks. Jareth’s spells seemed to have worn off; there were no more muffins or pitchers of juice waiting fresh on the benchtops. It made her feel oddly lost, knowing another part of him had faded from the Castle. She stood, hands splayed against the wood, and took a moment to compose herself.

                Luckily Brynn seemed to pick up on it and intervened. When she turned around, he’d conjured a jug of milk and some bread and cheese. Eva was eating as if she hadn’t done so for days. Sarah’s stomach grumbled too, for that matter, making her wonder how long it had been exactly since she’d had anything to eat. Or when she’d last slept. Scooping up some food, she told Eva they’d be just outside and motioned for Brynn to join her in the hall. The bread crumbled deliciously in her mouth, just as the cheese melted with perfection.

                “What do we do now?” she asked around a second mouthful.

                “Your goblins have been despatched to assist the boy,” Brynn answered matter-of-factly. “But I would suggest that I return to him on the off chance that he should come into strenuous circumstances. If you agree, that is,” he added, in what could have passed for satire, “Considering I _work_ for you.”

                 Sarah hid a grin behind her last piece of bread. “I agree,” she managed to say in a fairly dignified tone. “Meanwhile, I’ll take Eva with me back to the Palace. I want to get back to Wick and make sure he’s okay.”

                “I…don’t think that’s a wise decision.”

                “Why not?”

                “The girl…I don’t think she would react well to being thrown into the midst of the Fae Council.”

                But that answer didn’t seem to suit him. He didn’t budge an inch, or bat an eye, but the way he said it felt like a lie. He never hesitated and he’d just done it twice.

                “Wick needs me. I’m allowed to be there.” The last dregs of bread no longer appealed to her. She didn’t think she could handle another ounce of drama, if there was any to be found in this strange conversation.

                “You can’t afford to be distracted,” Brynn replied dismissively. “Your focus has to remain on the run.”

                “His cousin just _died_ because of me,” she stressed. “You think I’m going to leave him on his own with that crowd in the Palace?”

                “He’ll have plenty of support without you there.”

                “Like who?” she scoffed, folding her arms. “Not one of those Fae give a damn about Elves and probably only tolerate him being there because of me. If I stay away much longer –”

                “ _He’ll have someone to support him_ ,” the Fae interrupted with such force that she balked at him.

                “Who, Brynn?” she demanded. “Who’s there?”

                “It doesn’t matter. You just need to concentrate on your duties.” He made a flinching movement with his hands, looking about ready to shove her back into the kitchen. “Tend to the girl. Think of how this run is going to end, so that we can set a precedent for the future.”

                “No.” Sarah took a few steps back and splayed hands on her hips. “You’re keeping something from me. What is it?”

                “It’s not important.”

                “Obviously it is.”

                “Sarah.” So much emphasis, so much exasperation in that one word.

                “Brynn.” She did her best to match his frown, his stubborn glower, the sharp set of his jaw. “Who’s back at the Palace that you don’t want me to –” Something clicked. “The Queen’s dead. People need to know. You told the Council. Who else did you tell, Brynn?” Was that _her_ voice shaking like that? It couldn’t be.

                His silence was answer enough.

                “Lina’s heir to the Throne,” she murmured slowly. “Why wasn’t she in the Chambers with the Councillors?”

                Guilt in his expression wasn’t exactly a surprise, but… _embarrassment_? On the great stone face? “I couldn’t stop her,” he said. Yes, there was a distinct touch of shame to that statement. “As soon as she arrived she started asking after him. I told her she had to stay, had to wait…but she wouldn’t listen to me.”

                Sarah felt lightheaded. Her heart was beating very fast. There was a buzzing in her ears. So much for no more drama. “She brought him back, didn’t she? Lina brought Jareth home.”

                “You needed to stay focused,” he replied, seeming to gain back some semblance of purpose.

                “You knew. You _knew_ she’d gone to get him and you didn’t tell me?”

                “What’s happening here is incredibly important, Sarah. I thought Jareth would distract you from your duties.”

                Sarah punched him in the arm. Quite hard, though it didn’t seem to faze him. “You don’t get to make those decisions for me!” she snapped, raising her fist to strike again. “ _That_ especially was not a decision you should’ve made for me!”

Perhaps it was shock that had stopped him from reacting the first time, but the second swing he caught fast. “Don’t do that.” Sarah’s wrist was locked in his grip and she glared at him defiantly. “I made a logical choice,” he answered calmly.

                “Then why did you look so guilty?”

                He had no answer for that.

                “I’m serious Brynn, if you’re going to – to follow me, or work for me or whatever – you can’t hold things back. I’m a grown-ass woman and I can figure out for myself what I need to focus on.” All this she said in a much more reserved tone than before. It was probably against her argument to be in hysterics in front of him over the mere _mention_ of Jareth.

                Letting go of her wrist, Brynn glanced down at the floor momentarily and nodded his acquiescence. For him, that seemed the equivalent of having had his ears boxed thoroughly.

                “Good. Now take me back to the Palace.”

                He quirked a brow at her.

                “I won’t mess up the run because of him!” she said exasperatedly. “He _was_ the Goblin King for a hundred years, remember? Don’t you think he’d be a bit helpful?” _If I can stop myself from knocking him to the floor and kissing him to death._

“Fine,” Brynn agreed at last, to which Sarah whooped and snatched up his arm. “But I do think first we should do something with Miss Neese.”

                Sarah nodded quickly, not about to let him think she’d already forgotten the girl. “We’ll take her to the gardens to wait. She’ll probably like some sunshine after being in the dungeon for so long.”

                In all honesty, she lost track of events after that. She probably went to fetch Eva and Brynn most likely took them to the gardens. They must have left her there in comfort, because the next thing Sarah knew she was alone with Brynn and being pulled through nothingness back to the Palace. Back to Jareth.

 

* * *

 

 

Traversing the depths of the Palace without magic was _painful._ After two weeks spent Above he’d gotten used to walking everywhere, yet it was frustrating beyond measure now. The corridors seemed twice as long, the rooms in endless abundance. Every person who passed him by received a frustrated glare when they couldn’t tell him that they’d seen the woman he described. It wasn’t even the running around that bothered him so much as the _time_ it took. With no memory in the Above, he hadn’t been able to name the odd feeling that had tickled the back of his mind for two weeks. He knew what it was now, that strange extra beat like a pulse: the seconds of life ticking by. And they did so agonisingly slowly; how could humans stand it? How did Sarah not go mad with it?

_Sarah_. Why did she have to go running off just before he arrived? Her timing was ironic and terrible. It wouldn’t have been a problem had he been able to just turn back the clock, but that wasn’t an option anymore. Jareth greatly suspected he was stuck living a very linear life from now on. He cursed his own impatience for not thinking to bring Lina along; it would’ve been much faster for her to transport him around the place.

                “Your Royal Highness?”

                “What?” he snapped impatiently. “If it’s not about Sarah Williams I don’t want to –”

                “It is,” the Elf behind him replied smoothly, blankly. Clearly her Servant Self. “I witnessed Miss Williams conversing with His Majesty Brynn Fel Vaden on the West Balcony a short while ago. I wouldn’t have taken notice, only she seemed rather upset. He transported her away, though. I suspect you might have a better time finding her if you return to the Council Chambers.”

                She _would_ turn up in the place he’d left. Jareth glanced back down the hall, thinking of the time it had taken him to get here and how far the return walk was. He looked at the Elf. “Will you take me there?”

                She stiffened. “I’m sorry Sir, but I’ve got orders to aid the search for the Queen –”

                “She’s dead,” Jareth interrupted sharply, ignoring her stunned expression. “So the search is over. I need you to take me back to the Chambers.” He thought of Sarah and her friend Wick, of her patience and kindness. “Please,” he added as a gentler afterthought.

                The Elf nodded. “With your permission Sir, I can make a gateway.” She still looked shaken over the news of the Queen, though more surprised than upset.

                Jareth gave his permission, though what true power he had left in this world he wasn’t sure anymore.

 

* * *

 

 

Sarah wasn’t a selfish person.

                Not anymore, not for a long time, but at that moment…it might have been understandable if she felt more than a twinge of irritation. Really, was it too much to ask that these people sort out their own crap without her? Just for five minutes. Just so she could find Jareth. But no, returning to the Palace on Brynn’s arm had doomed her to more duties. Had she really expected anything different?

                Lina and the Council were at each other’s throats.

                Well, as much as people like the Fae _could_ display such aggression. Theirs was a dangerous kind of subtlety, a slow heat with the potential to burn down everything in its wake. And it was directed at Wick.

                “He was caught _eavesdropping_ on a private conversation between Councillors and the Queen,” Ezra was saying. The fact that her voice was actually brimming with anger showed how strongly she felt. “He was Severed as punishment and I don’t see how he should be allowed to go on as if nothing happened.”

                “And _worse_ , he flaunts his True Self like a banner in a proud wind!” another cried.

                Lina was standing protectively between the Councillors and the Elf, though if she showed any hint of aggression it was only in her wild eyes. Her face was serene, posture strong and assertive. Years of peacekeeping must have taught her how to remain unruffled in situations like this. “You know the protocols here Lady Ezra,” she replied in a voice like the calm before the storm. “Recent spells cast by the Queen are voided in the event of her death. It is up to her successor to decide whether they are to be upheld or renewed. The same goes for punishments: I _will_ Pardon my brother and I _will_ see that this Elf remains unSevered. They have served their time.”

                “You are not Queen yet,” Dovail answered, despite the warning glances given by his sister. “Your commands are not binding.”

                “But I _am_ the Princess, Heir to the Throne of the Fae Domain. I’m the most powerful person in this room.”

                Sarah watched tensely. Nobody seemed to have noticed her and Brynn’s arrival yet. Maybe she didn’t have to intervene. Maybe she could just slip away and go look for Jareth and –

                “That servant has been corrupted by contact with the human girl and is no longer fit for duty!”

                Okay. Maybe she had to say a few words.

                “You are still to be sworn in, Princess,” Ezra said coldly. “And _we_ are the ones responsible for that process, which grants us more power than you deign to consider. If it were up to me, I’d have killed the Elf when we caught him in the first place.”

                “Right!” Sarah shouted, cutting off anything diplomatic Lina had been about to say. “That’s it! All of you, listen up!”

                They did. They stared at her in varying degrees of indignation. Well, at least she had their attention. “I’m sick of this shit. You guys –” she pointed a threatening finger at the Council – “Need to understand that Lina’s not the most powerful person in the room. _I_ am.” Their derision was beyond obvious, but she didn’t let it dampen her sudden fire. “Don’t you get it yet? I’m the one with the respect of the hordes. I’m the one who controls thousands of goblins. Goblins _you_ are all so terrified of that you try to kill off anybody who might upset the scales and send them rushing over the walls at you. Do you know what happened to the Queen? Do you _really_ know?”

Brynn had told her what he’d passed on to the Councils, but she thought the truth would cement their belief in her authority. A small belief, if not exactly respect.

                “She was poisoned by her broken promise to _you_ ,” Ezra replied, in a way that was clearly meant to lay blame on Sarah. “The creatures took advantage of that.”

                Sarah shook her head fiercely. “Nope. Wrong. She was poisoned all right, and she fell into a pit of monsters, that’s for sure. But do you know what happened then? The goblins tried to attack her and I told them to _stop_.” Silence. Uneasy, disbelieving silence. “And they listened. They stood back and let us collect up her broken body and lift her up to safety. _I_ told them to do something, and they did it. Me. Sarah Williams.”

                “So why is our Queen dead?” asked another Councillor.

                “Because she did the wrong thing,” Sarah answered solemnly. A death was still a death; she was still uncomfortable with her involvement in it. “I saved her and she tried to kill me. And through nobody’s fault but her own, she fell right back into that pit of monsters and died.” Let them linger on that, she decided, turning a carefully casual expression to Brynn. “You should go. See how Luka’s doing.”

                “Should I stay?” he murmured, eyeing the Council, but Sarah waved him away.

                “No, they need to learn to respect my authority,” she replied just as quietly. “I’m the babe with the power, right? They need to know it.”

                That was a smile. That was a definite smile from him then before he vanished with a nod.

                Back to the Council: they were studying her intently and – to Sarah’s satisfaction – with clearly confused consciences. She kept her face neutral and risked a glance at Lina, whose lips were turned up in a proud hint of a smile. Wick too was eyeing her with open reverence, if still meekly taking cover behind Lina. “I’m not directly trying to offend you or disrespect you,” she continued. “But you need to understand that I do hold some fairly heavy sway in the decisions that are going to be made around here from now on. And obviously, my first objection is to anything happening to Wick, or his family, or any other Elves for that matter. They’re a good, honest, reliable people who deserve more than the lot you’ve given them in life. And Lina is going to make a kick-ass Queen, so you’re going to have to work with her on anything she wants to do for the Elves.”

                Ezra opened her mouth to object – of course – but Sarah didn’t give her the chance. “And _if_ you have a problem with that, I can always up and leave. Which, by the way, you should think hard about. Because I don’t even _want_ to be here in this cold old Palace full of stuffy nobles. And I don’t _want_ to be sitting back in that Castle which stinks of goblins no matter how much I clean it, waiting to put kids through a frankly inhumane test of spirit.” And now for the final blow. “ _And_ , if I hadn’t come here in the first place, you’d have all been goblin fodder months ago thanks to my boyfriend and his sweet if irresponsibly misplaced attentions.”

                If she’d confused them before, they were positively speechless now. She worried from the looks on their faces that she might’ve broken a few of their brains. So maybe she’d been a bit brutally honest, but it had to be said! Maybe she’d indirectly threatened them a little; it wasn’t as if they didn’t need a good push in the right direction. If she could soften them up for Lina when it was her turn to deal with them, then that was an achievement all its own.

                One of the Fae took a step forward: Marina, the woman in silver, with hands clasped together in front of her. “I admit to the difficulty of agreeing to so much change,” she announced to the silent room, voice beautiful in all its regal depth. “Yet I can also see the foolishness in ignoring the idea of it.” She raised her chin high and met Sarah’s eyes. “I am willing to see what this woman is capable of.” _Woman,_ Sarah noticed proudly, _not **child** or **girl**._

                No one said anything, but someone shifted from just behind Marina – her brother, stepping into plain sight. He had no look of agreement about him, rather a stern acceptance of the inevitable. “I too lay my interest in the future of this Goblin Queen.”

                Two others followed suit and the rest remained stone-faced and silent. Sarah felt a little disappointed by the response but a quick look from Lina told her something incredibly important had just happened.

                And still, she couldn’t help feeling just a little selfish. Because the Councillors were breaking up to talk in groups, and Lina and Wick were hurrying toward her with huge grins, and all she wanted was to share the moment with Jareth. _Jareth_ , whose name she wanted to sigh every time her mouth opened, whose continued absence was starting to drive her beyond a safe state of crazy.

“So I’m your boyfriend now, am I?”

                Maybe she was actually _going_ crazy, but that hot shiver of breath on her neck was too real. There’d be a smug little smile on his face when she turned around; she just knew it. Knew it, and didn’t care. He was _here_ , he was _alive_. He was –

                She blinked. He was wearing tight jeans and a leather jacket and stared at her from beneath a mane of overgrown hair. His expression wasn’t smug, though. It was intense and beatific and full of obvious restraint. Sarah couldn’t help herself; she reached up and tugged at a lock of ragged blonde hair. “Yeah well,” she murmured, “Thought I’d go ahead and make it official. Didn’t think you’d mind.”

                He watched his hair being curled around her finger. “Not at all,” he answered mildly. “Though I must admit ‘boyfriend’ sounds a little juvenile.”

                “What do you want me to call you, then?” she demanded softly, heart in her throat, breathing shallow.

                His hand encircled hers and brought it to his chest; he lifted her face to his with a finger. It made her dizzy, having nothing of him for so long and then all at once being swept up by the tide in those eyes. “Just Jareth,” he whispered against her lips, with no trace of teasing. “Jareth, forever yours…and you will be Sarah, forever mine. We don’t need anything else. We never have and never will.”

                “That’s very romantic, but probably a bit wordy on paper.” How did she manage to act so coolly when inside she was aching to kiss him? Her legs felt like they might give out any moment.

                “Always have a comeback prepared, don’t we love?” He brushed his nose against hers.

                “I have to,” she sighed against his cheek. “Got to keep you in line, don’t I?”

                “It must be such a taxing life you lead.”

                She felt ready to break apart then, even if he was just being playful. The last endless hours were more than catching up to her; they were rushing up in full force. “Jareth,” she murmured desperately, throwing aside all pretence. “I’m so tired.”

                “I know, love,” he whispered seriously, drawing her in close, folding an arm around her waist. “You’ve done so well.”

                “I’m so _damn_ tired –”

                “Ssh, I know –”

                “And I _missed_ you –”

                “Sarah –”

                “I will not stand for this _flaunting_ of total disregard for rules!”

                Maybe murder wasn’t so far beyond Sarah’s capability. Ezra was certainly pushing her luck. From Jareth’s embrace she turned to glare at the Fae in exasperation. The pair of them had gathered everyone’s attention unawares.

                “Your union is forbidden!” the bitter Elder exclaimed, clearly pushed to her limits by now. “It was the entire reason for your de-Throning in the first place –”

                “I _told_ you he’s been Pardoned for his crimes,” Lina interjected shortly. “My brother can love whomever he chooses.”

                “Not this choice,” one of the other Councillors added, a woman who hadn’t stood to proclaim respect for Sarah earlier. “Unions between Fae and mortals are against the fabric of our existence. Even _you_ can’t sanction them, Princess.”

                “Well I’ve got news for you then,” Jareth said icily over Sarah’s head. She felt the rumble of his voice in his chest. “I’m a mortal now and powerless to boot, so I can damn well be with Sarah because I’ve got nothing to contribute to the Domain in the least.”

                Sarah expected a shocked silence, hoped for it, but of course there were objections and arguments and endless voices. She’d had enough of it. They were directed at her but she didn’t care at all. “Hold that thought!” she shouted at Ezra, who was about to deliver another tirade.

                Tangling her fingers into Jareth’s hair, she kissed him hard.

 

* * *

 

 

_“You shine your own bright light, you know. With or without me.”_

                She always had, always. But just now, watching her handle those Fae with such ease and self-assurance, Sarah blinded him. She was magnificent. He’d wanted to scoop her up, to pour his soul into her hands, to proclaim undying love like a poet in a story. But the words that had slipped free had been casual, mischievous, true to his character yet completely unbefitting. It felt as if his mouth had done the talking while his heart and mind had been preoccupied just breathing her in. He hadn’t said or done half the things he’d wanted to by the end of the chaos that was their reunion. All around them Fae protested, Lina argued calmly – but it was easy to ignore. The void inside that had once been his magic was being filled by Sarah. Sarah and her love and the warm press of her mouth on his and the gritty, exhausted scent of her and the Council could all go take a dive in the Bog for all he cared.

                “Sarah…you need to see this…”

                Jareth’s tried to keep her in place, fingers clinging to her waist, but she pulled away. If only a little and very reluctantly. He expected Sarah to lose her temper with Wick, as she had with Ezra, and as he very much wanted to for the interruption. But she turned to the Elf with an expression too soft for anger and too forced to be anything other than guilt. What did she owe him? Clasping his hand tightly, Sarah reached out for the mirror Wick held aloft. Drawing close to Jareth so they stood hip to hip, she gazed into the glass with wariness.

                “What now…?” she murmured anxiously, staring into its depths with a frown. The look on her face told him exactly _what now_. She’d been overseeing the boy’s run of the Labyrinth; it was time for the final test. How many times had Jareth looked just like that? Tight-lipped and strained and too exhausted for total panic. All because it was time to play the true part of the ruler of the goblins. She’d managed to tweak the game’s guidelines thus far; this was not something she could talk her way out of.

                By her pleading expression, meeting his gaze, Sarah knew it too.

                “I’ll come with you,” he offered automatically.

                She shook her head. “They hate you now. You’ll be ripped to shreds if they see you.”

                He took her gently by the shoulders, about to say he didn’t care, would follow her to his death all over again, when another voice interrupted.

                “Trust yourself, Sarah. You’ve no other choice.”

                Jareth hadn’t resented Brynn Fel Vaden for taking his job and almost killing him. He’d felt very little for the man who’d stepped forward to clean up the mess that his reign had ended in. But he _bristled_ with loathing now. Every muscle tensed, every hair stood on end. He was a wolf with its hackles up. His hands tightened on Sarah’s shoulders.

                “You have no right to be here after what you did to her,” he spat at the Fae. “She’d have died because of you, if I hadn’t –”

                “She’s been risking death every hour of the day for months because of _you_ ,” Brynn replied shortly. “Saving her life was only an act which you _owed_ her in the first place.” He had the audacity to dismiss Jareth with a glance and turn his focus to Sarah. “There’s no more time. You have to do this.”

                “That isn’t what she wants to hear right now,” Jareth growled.

                “It’s the truth.” Those words were irritatingly smooth and logical.

Somewhere along the way, Jareth must have lost the ability to force emotion from his voice. There was very little of his Fae self left and that wasn’t really a terrible thing. Because Sarah didn’t need logic now; she needed support. “I didn’t see everything but I know you’ll have done right by that boy,” he murmured to her. “He’ll make the right decision. It will be all right.”

“And then what?” she whispered, fingernails digging into his jacket sleeves. “What happens after that? So he goes back with Eva and they become best friends. What about the next time? And the time after that? The wishes will never stop, Jareth, so neither can I.”

She was reading the words right out of his heart. This was what he’d suffered through every day for more than a century. The blood and loss was haunting in its own right but much worse was the certainty of knowing there’d _always be a next time_. And she understood this, understood him, in a way nobody else did. Her future was uncertain, wavering with every decision made. But she’d come all this way for the most important reasons: for the sake of her siblings, for her own self, for him.

And so it wasn’t an answer, it wasn’t a promise to anything that she was asking, but it was the only thing he could ever offer her consistently. He leant forward, touched his forehead to hers and whispered: “I love you.”

If she understood any of his reasons for giving this to her, she didn’t say. Didn’t need to. She closed the small space between them and kissed him once, just once, eyes open to match his own.  He would never be happy with any view but that from now on, he was sure.

“Sarah. There’s no more time.”

Yes, Jareth thought, he definitely despised the man now.

Sarah showed him no animosity for the interruption, kissing Jareth again before turning to the Fae resolutely. “I’m going to need some of that magic of yours,” she told him in a voice wonderfully less shaky than moments ago.

The Fae produced a mirror similar to the one Sarah held, yet it was blacker than night and shimmered with ominous potential. As she took it from him, Jareth couldn’t help wondering what this new rapport between them was exactly. And couldn’t help feeling stung with the knowledge that this was one thing he couldn’t give her, no matter how trifling it seemed in comparison. What was a little piece of magic when you had someone’s heart in your hand? To his credit Brynn seemed to ignore the situation rather than point it out, taking the silver mirror that Sarah handed to him.

“You’ll be here when I get back, right?”

That question was for him, not the other Fae, as Sarah turned back to him expectantly. She was a vision of grit and determination, swishing the hair from her face and clutching the black mirror firmly.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he swore to her.

And then Brynn touched her shoulder from behind and sent her whirling away to the Goblin Castle.

 

* * *

 

 

It had felt like the right thing to do at the time. Luka couldn’t have said why, but he was sure that in movies the hero always faced his final test alone. So he’d waved off his friends with a brave and thankful – if a little battered and bruised – smile, and climbed the stairs to the tallest tower of the Goblin Castle. He knew that it was Sarah who would be waiting for him – at least, he _hoped_ so – and that really he had nothing to be afraid of. Not after the things he’d just been through with the strangest bunch of creatures he’d ever met. And yet he couldn’t help worrying that he’d gotten it wrong, that the Goblin Queen might be playing a big trick on him. Everything in this place seemed to like playing tricks on him. Still, he reached the top of stairs with his knees only shaking a little, and that seemed quite an achievement.

                He was in a strangely ordinary room, though filled with amazing things. It was all stone walls and thick red carpet and stacks full of books. Stacks and _stacks_ of books. It was heaven. He could have crawled into the centre of the room and read happily forever without ever being bothered by people. The colourful spine of a fantasy story called out to him from the top of a pile. He reached out to touch it, fingers outstretched as if toward gold. A voice stopped him.

                “Hey, Luka.”

                He turned. Sarah – the Goblin Queen – was sitting cross legged in the middle of a messy pile of really old-looking novels. A fire was glowing hot and darkly orange behind her in the fireplace. It made it difficult to see her clearly, only a black outline. Something glimmered in her hand.

                “Hi, Your Majesty,” he said, mouth suddenly dry. Was he about to be tricked? He bowed for good measure.”

                “You don’t need to do that,” she told him softly. “Just call me Sarah, remember?” She twirled the thing in her hands. Luka thought it was a mirror. “Luka, you’ve done really well kiddo. _Really_ well. I’m proud of you.”

                “Thankyou.” He couldn’t help swelling with pride. Teachers at school told him that every day, but to be told by a _Queen!_ It made it easier to ignore the stinging of his cuts and scratches from the run. “Can I please have Eva back now?”  

                “Not just yet.” She flashed the shiny thing at him: it _was_ a mirror. “You know I have to test you first, right? That’s what this is all about.”

                “I know.” He realised his hand was still stretched out toward the book from earlier, still eager. With an effort he let it drop and moved closer to the woman outlined by fire. “What’s the test?”

                Sarah – the Goblin Queen, it was hard not to think of her like that when she looked the way she did – stared into the mirror, but frowned as if she couldn’t see anything. Then she looked at him. Her smile looked kind enough, but he had the feeling she was worried about something. “Before I give you Eva you have to prove your worth,” she told him quietly. “Prove to me that you won’t be tempted again by easy fixes, or she’s ours forever.” She turned the mirror to face him. It was small, framed by shining black metal. Pictures swirled inside it, but he had to move closer before he could make them out. “This mirror shows you your dreams,” she told him. “It shows you everything you could have if you give up Eva to me. Look into it, Luka, and think hard. And tell me that you don’t want them. That you don’t want to be rewarded for damning someone’s soul.”

                He shivered. Both at her words and at the things he saw in the reflective glass. It seemed to swallow him up, the depths of the pictures and what they promised: _a life without bullies, an endless collection of books and comics and rooms filled with his favourite video games and science experiments and ice cream, a life he could very happily live forever. He saw himself smiling and reading in a warm comfy chair, flicking through comics with a tall glass of soda beside him. He saw pictures of himself as a grown up, very happy and very loved and confident, a man that nobody ever picked on or interrupted and who was never told not to talk so much or to play outside more. A man whose favourite Nanna was still alive and who would visit him all the time and give him treats and teach him to play piano. A man whose goldfish hadn’t been eaten by the neighbour’s sneaky cat. Someone who didn’t remember being almost sealed into a wall of bricks, or falling into a lake filled with eels, or running from a gang of fire-eating creatures with heads that bobbed along separately from their bodies. He didn’t feel hungry, looking into that mirror. He didn’t feel tired or sad or lost or alone or scared, and would never feel those things again, if he just took that mirror and gave them Eva and – **Eva –**_

He snatched the mirror from the Goblin Queen’s hand.

                And threw it into the stone wall with all his might.

 


	17. Threads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: One day I will have an author’s note that doesn’t mention Bowie. But that day is not today. Guess who just pre-ordered Blackstar?!! To celebrate, here’s a little ‘afterwards’ chapter, a bit of a reprieve wherein I attempt to begin tying up loose ends but actually just leave more hanging. I love you all. That is all. Remember when I said there was only 2 or 3 chapters to go? That was about five chapters ago now. Ha. Naïve little me. I don’t know when this will end, but it WILL be soon…

**Chapter Sixteen: Threads**

Having your reality unravelled made for one hell of a twisted experience.

                At least that’s what it felt like to Sarah. One minute they were in the Castle, Luka throwing that mirror away like something diseased, and the next she was falling through nothingness. Luka faded and disappeared; bits of stone and glass and books on fire went whirling by her head. _“This mirror shows you your dreams…”_ The words echoed around her at full volume until she had to clap hands over her ears. _“It shows you everything you could have if you give up Eva to me. Look into it, Luka, and think hard. And tell me that you don’t want them. That you don’t want to be rewarded for damning someone’s soul.”_ Her entire conversation with Luka played out on repeat, stretching into the void around her like sound stretched through a tunnel. She felt weightless, helpless, flashes of reality crashing around her like puzzle pieces ripped to shreds. She tried to scream but there was no sound. Only her own words thrown back at her as if to taunt.

                And then it all stopped. She hit something cold and hard. Or rather, it hit her. Rushed up to meet her with its painful embrace. There was a silence so profound it made her ears ring and a musty stench that was annoyingly beyond her comprehension.

                “Is – is she all right?”

                “She’ll be fine.”

                “Fine? She hit the floor! I told you we should have been here sooner!”

                “She’s not hurt, Jareth. Don’t snap at him so much. Here, let me –”          

Something touched her cheek, a soft caress, the smell of earth and clay, and she fell asleep instantly.

 

* * *

 

Eva hated taking naps. She’d avoided them with almost violent determination her entire childhood. So she couldn’t understand why she’d just woken up on a bench in the park by the school. Hadn’t it been storming earlier? Where were all the other kids? She shivered and yawned, sitting up quickly. The bench was hard and left the side of her face stiff and sore where she’d slept on it.

                Sitting beside her, rubbing his identically aching cheek, was Luka.

                There was nobody else at the park. It looked late, by the dark tinge of the sky. Late enough that they would be in trouble soon if they didn’t hurry home. Cracking her jaw, Eva flicked a pigtail over her shoulder and studied Luka curiously.

                He smiled at her. Strange, given all the things she’d done to him.

                Stranger still, she smiled back. And meant it. “What happened?” she asked in a croaky voice.

                He didn’t answer right away. He never did. It used to irritate her so much. Now, it made him seem very thoughtful. “We must have fallen asleep,” he answered finally with a shrug. “I should probably get home. It’s late.”

                Eva nodded. That seemed a fair enough response to her. What was the point in arguing? “You live by me, don’t you?”

                He nodded, getting to his feet and stretching.

                “Want me to walk you home?” She wasn’t sure why that came out. But again she meant it.

                And again Luka smiled. “That would be great.”

                Tugging her school coat tighter around her shoulders, Eva helped him lug his heavy backpack – no doubt full of books – on, before taking up a comfortable pace beside him. “I’m…sorry,” she murmured, unsure of what exactly she was talking about.

                He had the same uncertain expression on his face. “Me too,” he replied.

                Eva wondered why she’d ever thought about giving him a hard time.

 

* * *

 

The Castle didn’t feel like home anymore. And it had taken him the better part of the last century to like it in the first place. Now the things once entertaining and comforting were threatening and foolish. The statuesque goblin faces that bedecked the Throne room wall reminded him of slaughter. The stone pit, once a place for his subjects to carouse, seemed to ask _how could you be so complacent with this? They were children, once._ It stank, too. That stench of tanned leather and dust and chicken pellets – the aroma of goblins – had faded into the background for him about twenty years in. Now he wrinkled his nose in disgust as he led the others. _Led,_ as if he were still in charge, as if Brynn mattered no more than a flea. It was more to do with reaching Sarah first than any show of dominance. Still, it didn’t hurt to let the other man know just _who’d_ run the place longer.

                 That flew out the window when Sarah appeared out of nowhere. There was a flash of light and she fell to the stone floor with a heavy crunch before any of them could react. Surging forward, Jareth knelt by her and prayed to the Fates she was still breathing. Of course there was never any real danger of dying upon a Return, but life was unpredictable these days. Who knew what fresh dramas it would throw at him? And the little time he’d had with Sarah before she’d been called away had left him just a little needy.

“Is – is she all right?” Wick asked, wringing his hands nervously beside Jareth.

He felt the shadow of Brynn’s stiff presence on his other side. “She’ll be fine,” the man announced firmly.

                “Fine?” Jareth rounded on him, teeth bared. “She hit the floor! I told you we should have been here sooner!” It was the Fae’s fault they’d been late, wanting to placate the Council before leaving. As if that mattered when Jareth had promised to be there when Sarah got back.

                Lina, her presence still a miracle, managed to pacify his snarling with a touch to the shoulder. She replaced Wick beside him. “She’s not hurt, Jareth,” she told him firmly. Sarah’s eyes fluttered and she exhaled hard. “Don’t snap at him so much. Here, let me –” she reached out and touched Sarah’s cheek softly, murmuring, putting her to sleep. “She’ll feel much better when she wakes.”

                “Thank you,” Jareth told her quietly, running a hand through Sarah’s hair. “I’ll take her to bed.” He leant down and collected her into his arms, her head lolling softly against his chest.

                “How do you think it went?” Wick asked. There was no question as to what he meant. They’d lost connection through the mirror during the final minutes of the test. Some things were meant to go unwitnessed.

                “I can’t feel the hordes anymore,” Brynn answered. “I assume that means they’ve accepted her.”

                “But it could also just mean they’ve rejected _you_ ,” Jareth grumbled under his breath. Lina patted his shoulder firmly.

                “There’s no child here, is there?” his sister asked rhetorically. “I’d say the boy did well. And Sarah did spectacularly.”

                “Of course she did,” he replied proudly, kissing the top of her head. His pendant still glimmered dully around her neck. “She’s incredible. There’s nothing Sarah Williams can’t do.”

                “But she _does_ need rest,” Lina said pointedly, drawing an end to the conversation. “Take her to bed and then I’d like to speak with you.”

                He revelled in the walk to Sarah’s bedroom. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t just transport her there, or that she was so limp in his arms that she was actually quite heavy. It didn’t matter that she was too asleep to hear him murmuring poetry into her hair. He was overjoyed at the sensation of being alone with her for the first time in what felt like years. No Councillors to shout at them, nobody to demand her attention, no goblin friends hassling them. He spoke to her the whole way, talking of idle hopes and dreams, how proud of her he was, how sorry he was for the things he’d gotten her involved in.

                “But it was never anything you couldn’t handle,” he told her when they reached the door to her room. Opening it was a struggle with his hands full and gave him a moment to ruminate. _Did she handle it so well because that’s who she is? Or is she so tough because she’s **had** to be? Would she have been a different person if I hadn’t pinned her down in the Underground? _ They were surprisingly morbid thoughts to come from nowhere, considering his contentment moments before. But they were true worries nonetheless and dimmed his happiness somewhat as he lowered Sarah into bed. She sank onto the covers with a sigh, lips curved down in an exhausted frown. “And this is only the beginning,” he murmured sadly, gently tracing the line of her jaw with his knuckles. He glimpsed the bandage on his still-healing hand as if noticing it for the first time. Strange, how he didn’t consider it a symbol of sacrifice. What he’d done for Sarah was necessary as breathing and he refused to regret it. Even if he died in three years’ time from some silly mortal disease or never touched magic again. The cost of his years was a small price to pay to keep Sarah Williams alive.

                But what would she live for now? She was the Goblin Queen. He realised this with such bitterness that he felt sick to his stomach. What life had he condemned her to?

                “Jareth,” Lina called softly from the hall. “Leave her to rest.”

                His sister leant into the doorframe, arms wrapped around herself. She was a silhouette in the dim hallway light. “I’ve ruined her life,” he uttered in a pained voice. “All the years I’ve spent keeping you away from the Throne…and all I’ve done is put Sarah in your place. What have I done to her?”

                Lina stepped lightly yet with purpose toward him. She slipped an arm around his waist and curled into his side. He barely felt it, numb as he was with dismay. “Things are changing,” she told him firmly. “Things _have_ changed. Because of her. You saw what happened today. She ran the Labyrinth without any bloodshed. Nobody was hurt and the goblins haven’t complained.”

                “But what twenty-five-year-old wants to spend her life like this?” he replied, letting his arm fall around Lina’s shoulder. He still couldn’t take his eyes off Sarah.

                “I think she’s a twenty-five-year-old that just wants to spend her life with _you_ ,” she answered. “Which means she’ll do whatever she has to, if it means she can be with you.” She paused thoughtfully, studying him. “The Fates only know why, you scrawny big-haired book-hoarder.”

                A smile flashed across his face unbidden. “I think the words you’re looking for there are _sleek_ , _fashionable_ and _learned_ , sister.”

                “You wish.” She nudged his shoulder and tugged at his arm. “Come on. Leave her be for a while.”

                It was the last thing he wanted to do. Lina’s insistent grip left no room for argument, steering them both into the hall. He refused to go any further however, leaning into the wall stubbornly and folding his arms. Lina tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and leant against him. It seemed too quiet now, too peaceful a moment, after everything they’d been through.

                “Do you think she was telling the truth about mother’s death?” she asked soberly.

                “I trust Sarah,” Jareth replied, eyes glazing over as he imagined the scene between Fae and human. He pictured the hordes below, waiting to rip into Mira, and shivered. But with disgust or satisfaction he wasn’t entirely fit to decide. “It’s in her nature to save people. And it’s in Mira’s to destroy them. I don’t doubt what happened and I don’t regret her death for a moment.”

                “I don’t blame Sarah,” Lina said quickly. “I just find it so horribly fitting as an end…and I think part of me feels guilty for that.”

                “Don’t,” he told her shortly. “She deserved it. She executed Kiff and sentenced me to death and tried to kill Sarah. That woman was never our mother.” He exhaled hard, tilting his head back into the stone. Behind closed eyes he kept glimpsing flashes of his trial: the knife in Brynn’s hand, the blank stare on Mira’s face, Sarah’s blood everywhere. He shook himself. “On a lighter note…you’re going to be Queen, sister of mine.”

                “A lighter note? I don’t think it could be any more burdened if we tried, Jareth. I have to clear up my standing in the Dust Bowl; I have to organise to be sworn in; the Elves will need my instant protection after all that’s happened…” She stretched her arms out in front, yawning, and readjusted her dusty skirts. “And yet I don’t feel like a Queen. I feel like…Lina. Just Lina.”

                “A grubby know-it-all?” he teased. “Scrub away some of the dirt and you’ll be fit for the crown in no time.”

                “And what about you, brother of mine?” she said facetiously. “What’s to become of a de-Throned, exiled, mortal with such big hair?”

                “It’s not – I’ve been Above for two weeks,” he grumbled, ruffling his fringe. “Being mortal must make it grow faster, that’s all.” At her gentle laughter, he couldn’t help smiling. “I think Sarah seems to enjoy it, so that’s good enough for me. As for the other problems…” his brief lifted spirits sunk once more. “I can only guess,” he sighed. “But I would say I’m in for a few more tongue-lashings from the Council before they’ll leave me be. And there’s the matter of my magic, too, which is completely gone.”

                “It might not be –”

                “You don’t need to mollify me. I’m not an infant.”

                “Not all the time, anyway,” she answered, pushing off from the wall to stand in front of him. “But if you’ll just listen to me, I’m saying don’t rule out the possibility that we can heal this.”

                “I don’t need to waste time hoping, Lina.”

                “Jareth. Wick and his cousins used an ancient form of Elf magic to find me in a dream state for you. You performed _transference_ on a mortal, and it worked! Don’t you think now is the perfect time to hold onto a little hope?”

                He was ready to answer that with a tired no, about to insist he was happy just as he was, when they were interrupted by an Elf.

                “Forgive my intrusion your Royal Highnesses,” said the Elf meekly with a bow. She must have stepped out of a gateway because Jareth was certain they’d been alone seconds before. “But the Fae Council request the presence of the Princess. They send me with the message that there is too much to discuss for you to be playing around the Goblin Castle.” Those last words were clearly verbatim and spoken with the monotone recitation of a Servant Self.

                Lina blinked. “Well then, I’d better not keep them waiting,” she muttered sarcastically. “The Fates know how I’ve spent the last hour gallivanting with goblins.”

                “Take the scenic route,” Jareth told her. “Make them wait just a little. I would suggest stopping by my web garden.”

                Smiling, Lina leant up and kissed his cheek. “I think I’ll do that.” She squeezed his arm and followed the Elf down the hall and out of sight.

                Jareth waited until they were gone, the last of their gentle footfalls echoing on the stone. Then he ducked straight back into Sarah’s room. She looked so tired and drawn in on herself, a woman with a whole lot of purpose thrust upon her. He had no intention of disturbing her well-deserved sleep, but the bed looked very inviting. He slipped off his boots and jacket and crawled carefully onto the mattress. Lying beside her wouldn’t do any harm now, would it? He was slow and precise in his movements, edging towards her back. In fact, she’d probably sleep better if he curled around her like a parenthesis, pulling her snugly into his chest. He shared her pillow and let his arm fall loosely over her waist, comforted by the feel of her breathing against him.

                “Hello, love,” he whispered into her hair, closing his eyes. “Didn’t think you’d mind if I joined you.”

                She didn’t wake, but the squeeze she gave his hand was answer enough.

               

* * *

 

The Castle had never really felt like home to him in the first place. He hadn’t been there long enough to settle in, to find anything about it he liked. There’d been the library, of course, as a potential place of solace between runners. But he remembered walking in the first day to the sound of humming. Books that should have been dormant for decades were singing delicately. The Goblin King’s absence had been common knowledge among the higher ranks when Brynn had taken over. He hadn’t expected to hear the Songs in a place that should’ve been long abandoned. He remembered feeling uneasy then, realising that Jareth and Sarah, a Fae and a human, must have spent a lot of time in the library together to awaken the books. The Songs had seemed to belong to something beyond him then, and he hadn’t gone back.

                He was glad he’d guided his Return back to the Palace first, rather than the Castle. He’d needed to pacify the Council before they could be safely left to their own devices. Yet Jareth’s petty display of dominance irked him when they reached the Throne room. The man had taken to switching between ignoring him on sight or snapping at him. There was little that could annoy Brynn, or _had_ been little, just a few days ago. Contact with Sarah Williams seemed to have made him more susceptible to irritation. Jareth’s actions bothered him because the man couldn’t throw stones with a legitimately clear conscience. His ongoing involvement with Sarah had done her more damage than Brynn’s act of self-defence, as he’d seen it at the time. She was alive now, wasn’t she? And flourishing? She’d never actually died to begin with. _Who exactly are you trying to placate?_ If he wasn’t saying any of this out loud, didn’t that mean he was justifying himself to himself? Why?

                Sarah hit the stones and he winced.

                Then logic told him she’d be fine, of course, as they made their way towards her prone form. Nobody died upon a Return. She might be a little sorer than a Fae would feel but that could be fixed.

                “She’ll be fine,” he heard himself announce. For whose benefit? Jareth certainly took no comfort from it, whirling around to snap at him like some child with a grudge. He said little after that, more from a desire to let Lina concentrate than fear of stirring Jareth again. It was emptier inside his mind than it had been for a few weeks. The hordes’ presence was truly gone. While that didn’t bother him in itself, it did leave him wondering what exactly he was supposed to do now. He really had no place in any further discussions with the Council, considering he was no longer Goblin King. Sarah would be the hordes’ Queen with Jareth for company, no doubt. Though how she expected to have him around without the hordes knowing was beyond him. He considered the possibility of staying on as a guard, of sorts, to help her maintain control. He could probably have taken his old post up, but being head of the Border Patrol was no longer appealing.

                “Should we go find the others?”

                The Elf’s voice brought his attention to the empty room they now occupied. Jareth and Lina had taken Sarah away and he’d barely noticed. “What others?” he asked gruffly, to cover the strange feeling of being lost.

                “The goblins you ran the Labyrinth with,” Wick explained, eyeing him carefully. Was he frightened of him? Or deciding his worth? It was difficult to read the faces of people you’d never acknowledged before. “Hoggle and Ludo and Sir Didymus. They’ll be in the Castle somewhere too, won’t they?”

                “Unless they know how to deviate their Return, which I doubt,” he answered. “They should be here, yes.”

                “Then we should see that they’re all right. I think it’s been a hard day for everyone, don’t you?”

                He only nodded in answer before Wick was leading the way from the Throne room out into the hall. Brynn followed wordlessly for want of anything else to do, studying Wick as if only just becoming aware of his presence. It was difficult not to see the Elf in terms of usefulness, at first. Centuries of habit caused him to pick out the litheness of his walk, good for speed, and the strength in the corded muscles of those slim arms and legs. They were efficient creatures to have as servants, but Brynn couldn’t help seeing more than that now. There was a stoop in his posture that hadn’t been there before and a shadow on his face that spoke of grief. He remembered what Sarah had said. _“His cousin just died because of me,” she stressed. “You think I’m going to leave him on his own with that crowd in the Palace?”_ That ‘crowd in the Palace’ being Fae just like Brynn. Or perhaps not quite so much like Brynn, not anymore. Either way, he found himself offering comfort into the silence of their search.

                “I apologise for what happened to your cousin.”

                Wick fumbled a step before continuing on as if nothing had happened. “Thank you,” he replied tersely, face blooming warm with emotion.

                It made Brynn wholly uncomfortable but he couldn’t stop himself. “I was there,” he added stiffly. “I should have done something but I –”

                “Then why didn’t you?”

                Brynn’s steps faltered this time. It wasn’t embarrassment that coloured the Elf’s cheeks as he’d thought; it was anger. A surprising transformation from the politely affable person he’d been moments ago. “I didn’t have time –”

                “You’re a _Fae_. Your people treat time like a game.”

                They were standing still now, eyeing one another with opposing expressions. Brynn noticed he was the one on the defence a lot lately.

                “I saved Sarah,” he offered grimly. “That was what needed to be done.”

                “Everyone saves her,” Wick mumbled. “But nobody ever thinks about the Elves.”

                “Sarah does,” Brynn countered firmly. “And I think you know that.”

                The Elf’s posture slackened with acceptance; he twisted a leather bracelet around his wrist. “I do,” he murmured, taking up the lead once more. “I do.”

                Brynn apologized again, even making the Fae sign of condolence without knowledge of Elvish protocol. Yet the Elf no longer seemed interested in discussing his loss. Instead, as most inhabitants of the Domain seemed to do, he talked of Sarah.

                “Do you really think she’ll be all right?”

                “There was very little harm done in her fall,” Brynn replied matter-of-factly. “And the Princess reversed whatever she might have suffered.”

                “That’s not what I meant. She’s got to be the Queen now, doesn’t she? She’s got to run the Labyrinth every day.”

                “Sarah has…much freedom of choice in most things. She has a unique talent for affecting change, too.” They rounded a corner to the Servant Quarters but Wick led them beyond this area, towards the kitchen. “Yet I do think that, when it comes down to it, she must indeed claim such a title. In that, she has no choice.”

                “You can tell her then. See how well that goes for you.”

                “If you’re implying some unfortunate end for the bearer of bad news…I’m not afraid of her.”

                The Elf snorted. “Well then, shows how smart you are, doesn’t it?” They’d reached the kitchen when he paused in opening the door and looked at Brynn curiously. “What about you? I hadn’t thought about it.”

                “Thought about what?”

                “Well, what are you going to do now? Sarah’s taken your job. You’re technically unemployed – and probably disowned by the looks Ezra was giving you.”

                “I have plenty of options. I have good standing in the Palace.”

                “Not after you’ve been openly vouching for Sarah all day,” Wick replied. At Brynn’s raised brow, the Elf shrugged. “I’ve worked in the Palace for years. I pick up on how things go around there. And you, I’m sorry to say, might’ve done damage to your standing by backing a rebel – and _human_ – party.”

                Whatever Brynn might have had to say in answer was drowned by a shout from the kitchen.

                “You two goin’ to stand out there all day and yabber on or are yer goin’ to come in?!”

                Brynn winced. He hadn’t quite gotten used to the dwarf-turned-goblin’s rough manner of speech. He’d never spent much time among the lower classes. Although he was inclined to suspect Sarah would take issue with that. And possibly with him calling them ‘lower classes’. Still, it was difficult to unravel centuries of cultured learning in a day. Wick seemed to be watching him in a manner that suggested he was thinking the same thing.

                “We’d better join them; don’t you think?” he asked pointedly.

                “Yes,” Brynn replied shortly. “I suppose that was our purpose.” He wasn’t so certain now. What did he have to offer the likes of the false goblins, now that they weren’t all protecting the boy in the Labyrinth? Further still, what could they offer him?

                The door swung open at the Elf’s gentle push. He was hit immediately by the concentrated stench of the goblins all gathered in one room. Yet heritage had taught him to withhold reactions to things such as this, so Brynn followed Wick inside without wrinkling his nose as the Elf did.

                For all his confident yelling before, Hoggle fell silent upon their entrance. His knobbly face showed a mixture of pity and wariness. Brynn could guess which emotion was directed at him by the way he stood to bow his head at the Elf.

                “I’m real sorry for what happened to yer cousin, lad,” he said with a vague slur. Brynn noted the half-empty jugs of ale littering the table.

                “Indeed, we are all most forlorn and eager to offer our sincerest condolences, Sir Wick.” The quick little goblin – Sir Didymus, he recalled after a moment – was sat on the table with a small dulcimer sprawled across his lap. Bony fingers strummed it idly in a lamenting tune. “She was indeed a most fair and fiery maiden of the highest possession of valour.”

                “Ludo sorry,” bemoaned the giant goblin at the end of the table. He didn’t need a chair, squatting easily on the tiles and still a head above them all. His clawed hand was wrapped around an entire pitcher of ale.

                “Thank you everyone,” Wick replied with more sincerity than he had to Brynn’s apology. The Elf toyed again with the leather on his wrist.

                “Come on lad, take a seat,” Hoggle suggested. “Yer look like yer could use a stiff ale.”

                Wick joined them, eyeing the table of food and drink. “Looks like you’ve been celebrating the victory already.”

                “That weren’t no victory,” Hoggle said with a shake of his head. “That were sheer dumb luck and a bit o’ well-timed magic. We should be happy enough that none of us died, not talkin’ about doin’ it again like some kinda regular get-together.”

                “What do you mean?” the Elf asked, gratefully receiving a drink from Ludo.  

                “Sir Pipsqueak over here reckons we should form some kinda band to help out Sarah,” the dwarf-goblin explained. His voice told very clearly what he thought of that idea.

                “It would be a most noble cause to align oneself with!” Didymus said brightly, ignoring Hoggle’s tone. The dulcimer picked out a more inspiring tune.

                “It’d be a suicide squad, is what it’d be,” grumbled Hoggle.

                “But you did survive this run, didn’t you?” said Wick rhetorically. “You all seemed to make a good team. And with Sarah’s new rules in place, I think the Labyrinth could be something better than it’s ever been. Don’t you think so, Brynn?”

                He’d been watching this entire exchange as if from afar, as something private and beyond his own involvement. It took a few moments to realise he’d been addressed. “I…” he hesitated, much to the disapproval of his inner self. Hesitation was becoming far too common in his plethora of responses.

                The group were watching him, waiting for a reply, for a reason to put confidence in him. At least that’s how it felt. Their support during the Labyrinth run had been inevitable, given the way they’d all been thrust into their roles with little warning and a child’s life depending on the outcome. Hoggle had taken the longest to put some semblance of trust in him, and that wasn’t very much anyway. Yet Brynn felt potential in this room, looking at them all. He remembered the endless fighting energy of Didymus and the careful patience of Ludo. Hoggle’s temper was an issue that could be worked on. Wick seemed their mediator, as it were. Still, he couldn’t let himself forget their resentment when they’d remembered his attack on Sarah. The hatred in the dwarf-goblin’s eyes was not something trivial to be cast aside.

                They were still waiting for a response. And Brynn, who leant on logic and apathy, found himself coming up with something surprisingly appropriate. “I think I could do with a drink before we discuss the matter further.”

                Wick grinned, Ludo’s eyes were bright, Didymus plucked a merry tune, and Hoggle nodded with reluctant approval. “Come on then stone face,” he called gruffly. “Take a seat and grab a mug. Think yer can handle yer goblin ale better than the green boy over there?”

 

* * *

 

Something gravelly and deep-toned was snuffling against the back of her neck. Barely awake, she imagined goblin teeth and hot rank breath.

                “Ohmygodwhatthe –” she twisted and kicked all at once, rolling away from the source of the wretched growling. The bed beneath her quickly became carpet as she landed with a thump on the floor. The gravelly sounds turned into gravelly words, half-formed and confused.

                “Wha…bloody…hmph…”

Sarah poked her head up over the bed’s edge, heart thumping loudly. The figure in her bed was wonderfully unkempt, still half-asleep and holding his shin as if someone had just kicked it blindly in panic. “ _Jareth_ ,” she breathed lightly, certain she was still dreaming. “What – what are you doing here?”

“I _was_ sleeping,” he replied thickly, still rubbing pointedly at his shin.

It wasn’t a dream. He was too good at those, and this situation had none of his masterful flare. Scrambling back onto the bed, Sarah felt as if she were lit within at the sight of him. Still, they never could quite manage a romantic reunion. “You were _snoring_ ,” she replied with a wide grin, crawling across the blanket toward him.

“What?” he sniffed indignantly, though he was clearly starting to wake and make the same realisations as she. “I don’t snore.” His hands reached for her the way his eyes did.

“Yeah you do.” She wriggled into his arms and pressed her face into the crook of his neck. _Oh god, that smell. His hair, his skin, everything..._ she felt as if the colour were bleeding back into her world, as if she’d been breathing thin air until this moment. Life was suddenly thick with vibrancy and potential.

“I’m a Prince,” he argued still, even as he squeezed her so tightly against him she couldn’t breathe. “I don’t sn – mmmph –”

She fought her way up to his mouth and kissed him into silent agreement. Winning an argument had never felt so good in all her life. The pressure on her waist vanished as his hands came up to frame her face. His thumbs swept gently over her cheeks. He moaned happily against her lips, thankfully, adoringly, grateful to receive each dwindling press of her mouth to his. He looked decidedly glassy-eyed by the time she was done, yet she was far from finished.

“I love you too,” she said around a smile pressed into his cheek. Their noses brushed together; his hair tickled her eyes. “Didn’t get the chance to say it before.”

The effect it had on him was mesmerising. She thought of all the times she’d ever compared him to winter and hard planes and sharp angles. All of that was gone now. The snow had melted, sunlight streamed across a peaceful plain. Jareth was a man contented.

“No, you didn’t,” he murmured, brushing a thumb across her bottom lip. “You’ve been busy.”

“Lots of distractions,” she agreed, intoxicated by his closeness.

“Indeed.” He licked his lips; she had to force herself not to kiss them. “Say it again.”

“I love you Jareth,” she purred. “More than I’ve ever loved anything in my whole life, more than anything I will ever love in the future. More than dancing, or Dickens, or Walt Whitman, or magic and music, or chocolate and ice cream.” She pinched his chin gently between thumb and forefinger, honeyed voice suddenly clear and strong. “And if you _ever_ try to go ahead and die for me again, I’ll kill you. Got that?”

He chuckled softly, though it didn’t seem funny at all. “Yes ma’am. And might I say the same goes for you? I have no years left to save you with, should there be a next time.”

She kissed him then. How could she not?

“And let me just tell you now,” he added, “We’ve spent a _shameful_ amount of time avoiding the L word – granted, for practical reasons. But now I intend to tell you every day for the rest of my life. And then for a few days after that.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” Fingers traced her brow, nose, lips, ear. She glowed with warmth at the touch. “How the hell did I ever _hate_ you? It seems so stupid now.”

“I put it down to youth and misconceptions,” he murmured, the same fingers now brushing down her neck and the length of her side.  

She tried not to shudder and failed miserably, covering it with a snarky comment. “You mean we got off on the wrong foot? Tends to happen when you force me to run a maze to win back my brother.”

He was completely unfazed by her response, brushing his palm down to the small of her back. “Are we doomed to repeat this argument forever, pet? It became rather tiresome after the first sixty times.”

“Well hey, we’ve got the time now, right? Maybe in another hundred years we’ll have figured out who was in the wrong first.”

“ _You_ might have the years,” he responded, head pressed to hers, fingers working their way underneath her shirt. “Perhaps you’ll have it sorted for the both of us once I’m gone.”

All the heat that had been pooling inside her became frost, turning her stiff in his arms. “Don’t joke about that,” she snapped. “You could die and I could live forever without you. Don’t you ever fucking joke about that.”

Jareth drew back, eyes wide as if she’d slapped him. “I’m – I’m sorry, Sarah,” he told her earnestly. “I suppose I’ve had too casual a relationship with death. It never concerned me before.”

“Well it damn well should now,” she replied heatedly, slipping a hand into his shirt, so that her palm rested over his heart. “This is mine now, got that? And it’s as vulnerable as any human’s. So you’d better start remembering that. No joking about leaving me behind. You have to look after yourself, Jareth El’Maven.”

She was startled and a little embarrassed to find tears stinging her eyes.

Jareth reached up and wiped her cheek dry with a thumb. “I’m sorry, love,” he murmured drawing her into his arms tightly. She allowed every part of her to be encompassed by him. “I shouldn’t have said that. I promise I’ll take care of myself.”

“Isn’t there something we can do?” she asked heavily. “Can’t Lina do something as Queen, or – or maybe Brynn could help – what?” He’d stiffened instantly at the mention of the other man. She could practically see the hackles raising down his back.

“He put a dagger through you, Sarah.” Laden with love as his words had been before, now they were heavy with hate.

“You know, I haven’t really given that a lot of thought yet,” she told him honestly. What Brynn had done to her seemed a lifetime ago. Well, maybe it was.

                “Haven’t given that a –? Sarah, he _murdered_ you.”

                “But I’m here, aren’t I?”

                “Only because I saved you –”

                “Well I didn’t ask you to do that, did I?”

                “So you _wanted_ to die?”

                “No! But you can’t blame Brynn for defending himself in a situation like that. What was the guy supposed to do?”

                “You’re on his side? Sarah, the man _put a knife through you –_ ”

                “Stop saying that!” she snapped, finding her own hackles raised. Without realising it they’d both moved and were now sitting at opposite ends of the bed, rigid with anger. He had no right to be mad for her when she couldn’t feel it herself. Too much had happened. Didn’t he understand that? “Don’t you think I don’t remember, Jareth? Don’t you think I can’t still feel that blade going through my back like it was butter? Because I do, and I can.” She was shaking, quivering with irritation and repressed pain. “But I choose _not_ to. Do you know why?”

                He glared at the blanket in silence, arms folded and legs crossed.

                “Because he’s saved my ass more than a few times since then. He’s proven to me that he can change, that the things he did to me were the only choices he had at the time. But now he’s ready to be on my side no matter what a thousand other Fae think. Doesn’t that remind you of someone?”

                His teeth, sharp in places and gleaming, flashed in a cold grimace. “I would never have killed you Sarah,” he said in a low voice. “No matter what I had to put you through in the Labyrinth, I would never have let you die.”

                Her anger softened into frustration. She moved towards him across the bed and laid a hand on his knee. “And that’s why I love you,” she told him. “Because you’re the most human Fae I’ve ever met.” Finally, Jareth looked up at her. His gaze was intent, focused, brimming with emotion enough to prove her point. “But Brynn is only Fae and he’s got a whole lot of flaws to work on. I can forgive him for what he did because of everything he’s done since then. I’m the one with the right to be pissed but I forgive him. So that means you can as well.” She slipped her hands around his, threaded their fingers together. For the first time she noticed the thin bandage on his hand where he’d cut himself to save her. He _did_ have some right to be mad…but she couldn’t let him know that.  Things were going to be difficult enough without trying to stop a brawl between the men every five minutes. “Okay?”

                He stared down at their joined hands. “I don’t like him and I won’t forgive him,” he muttered. “But I suppose I can work around him. For you.”

                “Good enough.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him in for a kiss. He was tense at first, still sulking, until she worked her fingers into his hair and crawled into his lap. She was suddenly very sick of all the talking, sick of the damage control and overthinking and the million things demanding their attention beyond that door. There were a few fun ways to delay the inevitable, to stave off the cold reality of unknown futures. But more than that, she _wanted_ him. Wanted to be cloaked in that earthy scent, to have his damp hot skin pressed into her own, to be lost in a world that was only theirs. “Why are we arguing when we could be doing this?” she added, grinding into him, planting kisses along his jaw. “Seems a stupid waste of time to me. Who knows how long we’ve got before duty calls again?”

                “You’re a little all over the place love; it’s difficult to keep up. Where are we now, exactly?”

                “We’re making up.”

“Right. Because it seems like you’re just trying to distract me,” he replied, though without an ounce of commitment to the complaint. His hands found their way beneath the back of her shirt again, fingers trailing her waistline.

                “Yep. Is it working?” She ran her tongue around the shell of his ear, grinning at his strangled half-moan. “Guess that’s a yes.”

                “Don’t we have…some very important things…to be getting on with at the moment?” he asked between kisses, nails digging into her waist.

                “Probably,” she answered, amazed that he could even find the coherence to argue when she was grinding hard against him. His compliance seemed to be increasing with each roll of her hips. “A whole list of stuff, I’d say.”

                “World-altering things. Social-change-related affairs.” He exhaled hard against her neck and couldn’t help a quick nip at her skin.

                “Mhmm.” She tugged his head back and licked a slow line from the hollow of his throat along his neck. “Don’t really give a damn right now. What do you think?”

                The growl in his chest was deep and primal. “I think it’s been far too long since you were naked underneath me,” he rumbled, and that was their last intelligible conversation.

They moved like creatures in a wild wind, driven by purpose and mutual vulnerability and _need, need, need._ She was topless and arching backwards in his lap; she was naked and dropping kisses to his jaw, collarbone, lifting his hand to press it against her bare heart. The metal of Jareth’s pendant was cool against her fingers as she pulled it up and over her head, laying it aside. He was kneeling before her, stripping clothes off whenever he could bear to stop touching her. It took some time but she didn’t care. Just as long as he kept coming back, kept pressing his lips to her hand, wrist, elbow, smoothing his fingers over her thighs, along her breasts, always touching. _Never stop. Never again._

 

* * *

 

Later, when their breathing had slowed and hot skin had cooled, Jareth couldn’t help growing contemplative. “Why didn’t you tell me you remembered Brynn’s dagger?” he asked gently, playing with the digits of her fingers. Her back was pressed into his chest, head resting in the crook of his shoulder. The plane of her naked body stretched out before him like a horizon, yet he was too curious to appreciate the view.

                Her fingers stiffened in his grasp momentarily. “There’s a lot of things I don’t tell you,” she replied vaguely. “You’ve got enough on your plate without hearing my every thought and memory.”

                “Sarah, what am I here for but to be your audience? I’m supposed to be your confidant, aren’t I?”

                “It’s not a matter of bothering you with stuff. I just…don’t want to upset you.”

                “I’m afraid you’ve negated the purpose of such intentions with that sentence, love.”

                She grumbled and shifted against him. “Can’t we just kiss some more?”

                He planted one on the crest of her head. “There. Now tell me what’s wrong.”

                “All right, fine.” She rolled onto her stomach and rested her chin on his shoulder, glaring up at – glaring? She was _angry_ with him? Her hair was a mad waterfall spilling over her skin, but he had the feeling if he reached out to touch it she’d bite his finger off. “You want a glimpse into my head, Jareth? Come on in. Yes, I can remember having a big knife shoved into my back. It fucking _hurt_. It was the most painful thing I’ve ever felt in my life. But do you know what was worse? When you pulled it out of me and I saw you cut yourself. I was living my own nightmare. I’d dreamt of that exact moment, where you spilled your own blood to save me, and I felt _horrible_ because I’d still let it happen _._ ” Tears trickled down her face. “I feel like I don’t deserve you, Jareth. You were living out this self-designated sentence for Lina, doing your own thing, surviving, and I came along and messed it all up. I’ve gotten people killed; I’ve gotten you stripped of your immortality and magic; I’ve made so many high-up people angry that they’ve probably already planning my ‘accidental death’. Yeah I stood up for my friends and for myself but you know what? Most of the time I was just terrified and bluffing. I don’t feel like I’m capable of keeping control. Especially not over thousands of monsters. How am I meant to keep pretending for the next hundred years without anyone noticing I’m just this stupid human who backed herself into a corner?”

                So she still didn’t see it, did she? He reached out to sweep her hair back; she didn’t bite him. “Oh love,” he murmured, “What makes you think you’re the only one who’s bluffing all the time?”

                She sniffed. “How can I not? I’m surrounded by people who wouldn’t flinch if you threw a brick at their face. My friends are always ready to jump into fights for me; Keel kidnapped the fucking _Queen_ without hesitation; you and Lina pretty much have a monopoly on self-sacrifice. It just makes me feel…small. I’ve been making everything up as I go along. How does that mean I’m fit to be Queen of the Goblins?”

                He didn’t answer right away. It was too important a moment to rush into. Sarah was pleading with her eyes for reassurance, his Sarah, who’d done so many remarkable things and still felt insignificant. How could she really not see it, after all this? Jareth threaded his fingers into her hair and massaged her scalp. “I’d like you to do something for me,” he told her. At her questioning expression, he continued carefully. “Close your eyes.”

                It took a moment but she did. He’d make her see. He’d make her understand. “Now listen. There’s a spot in the back of your mind that’s different to the rest. It was never there before. It will feel shadowed and thick, difficult to ignore but hardly there at all. Can you feel it?”

                “What’s this supposed –”

                “Can you feel it, Sarah?”                              

Her brow wrinkled in concentration, mouth a thin line. His thumbs brushed at her temples lightly. The room was quiet but for their breathing and the scratching of his fingers through her hair. “I can feel something,” she said after a while. Her frown didn’t go away.

                “That’s your link to the hordes. It’s a very small part of you that they can communicate with, in a way. Can you tell me what they’re feeling?”

“I don’t –”

                “It’s not difficult. It’s just a feeling. A sense. You’ll know it when you touch it.”

                The frown deepened, her brows knitting together in concentration. And then her entire expression opened with surprise. “They – they don’t hate me. It feels like…like respect. They aren’t exactly happy, but they…get it. They respect what I’ve done.”

                She opened her eyes and stared at him in wonder. There was a very tiny, very hopeful smile lurking at the corner of her lips.          

                “They’re never happy,” he told her firmly. “Trust me, Sarah. You can feed them a hundred children and they won’t be satisfied. So for them to say they understand this new regime, and that they respect you? That’s _very_ important.” He wiped a lingering tear from the corner of her eye. “It doesn’t matter that you’re afraid or just feeling your way around or worried about the future. You’ve got the goblins in the palm of your hands, Sarah Williams. As for not deserving me…” he smiled affectionately. “I cannot even _begin_ to tell you how backwards that is. _I_ am the small one, _I_ am the insignificant worm basking in your glory hoping for a scrap of adoration. I used to have an ego once, before I met you.”

                “What do you mean you _used_ to?” she teased softly.

                He brought his hands down to her cheeks and caught them gently, leaning down to kiss her. “Do you see it now? Do you _see_ how bloody magnificent you are?”   

There was another tear in her eye, but a smile this time to go with it.

 


	18. Duty and Progress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I AM TERRIBLE AT UPDATES, I am so sorry. But I have 3 jobs and am trying to start up my own art print/jewellery business, and it’s almost Christmas, so forgive me please and keep reading!   
>  Oh and did you think I’d have an author’s note without a Bowie reference? Here’s one for you: my 2 year old nephew now adores him and can pick out the different Bowies no matter how he looks. His favourite album is Scary Monsters. Well done Aunty, well done.

**Chapter Seventeen: Duty and Progress**

 

There were worse things in the world than looking twenty-five forever. Sarah knew that it really shouldn’t bother her at all – and there was still the possibility that it _wouldn’t_ , given that they didn’t know how she’d be affected. Maybe she would just age a little slower than usual. Maybe she’d keep getting older and older and _look_ it – what would a three-hundred-year old look like in real-time? The thought made her skin prickle despite the warmth of the steaming bathroom. She’d left Jareth a few doors down, snoring and dreaming as if he hadn’t slept for decades. He was _so_ beautiful in so many ways, but she couldn’t deny that he wasn’t ridiculously handsome on the outside too. If – no, _when –_ they found a way to make him immortal again, what would he think of her skin thin as parchment, her bones half-dust with the years? He’d probably still love her, the sweet idiot. She didn’t actually doubt that. Still, something turned her lost gaze back to the mirror, to her unsmiling reflection.

                Living should leave marks. It was the natural way of things. You got chubby on your mother’s milk; you lost baby fat and sprouted more hair; you collected scars and scabs and tan lines; you got crow’s feet and frown lines and your hair changed colour with sun and age. People read each other from faces marked by life. Who would read her? How could she let them, when they might notice that she didn’t look anything close to thirty, forty, fifty? She’d be a freak, an ageless creature who heard the wishes of children and intermittently glimpsed visions of her lover’s future.

                She’d always hoped to look like her mother in the years to come.

                Old polaroids given her to by Laura Williams showed that Sarah did resemble her, in many ways, when she’d been in her twenties. But it wasn’t enough. Parents who divorced when you were seven left a few holes in your soul. It left spaces. Especially when your mother was Laura Williams, Broadway Star, who loved you as much as her work, the latter of which always seemed to win top priority. If Sarah couldn’t always _see_ her mother, she’d at least hoped to catch glimpses in herself one day. Shoulders equally freckled by the sun, laughter lines in the same places, stretch marks from having children, glasses for reading.

The possibility of not having that made her feel like she’d been robbed of something.

Not that she wasn’t grateful for what Jareth had done. Of course she was. But gratitude didn’t necessarily lend itself to abandoning the things you’d hoped for in a different future. Not in her books. Sarah sighed loudly, pressing a hand to her scrunched up eyes.

“Shut _up_ ,” she murmured.

“I haven’t said a word, pet.”

Her surprise didn’t last long at finding Jareth in the doorway, clad in familiar tights and loose black shirtsleeves. He hadn’t wasted any time in donning the clothes of his old life. “I was talking to my brain,” she replied, searching for something to dry off with. Staring at herself in the mirror until the steam dissipated had left her suddenly cold. “Where’s my towel?”

                “You know very well where it is,” Jareth declared meaningfully, in a practiced voice.

                She snapped her head up to find him grinning, eyebrows disappearing into that wild fringe and his hands poised on those slim hips. “Do I need to point out that we’re _in_ the Castle Beyond the Goblin City? You couldn’t have sent it off to where it already was. For one of many reasons.”

                “No, I couldn’t have,” he responded blithely, stepping into her path. “But I _could_ have thrown it out into the hall.”

She was still dripping wet, hair plastered to her face, splashing water on the stone tiles. “Well un-throw it, would you? Fetch. There’s a good boy.”

 “I’m not a _dog_.” His hands came to her waist and she found her irritation ebbing. He brushed a thumb over her appendectomy scar; she thought of all the times he’d kissed it. His smile was annoyingly smug.

“I thought you said I’d destroyed your ego?” she looped her arms around his neck.

“I may have been a touch overdramatic with that declaration. Difficult not to get swept up when I hadn’t seen you for weeks.” Kisses, delicate enough to spark irritation with their distinct lack of pressure.

Maybe Brynn was right. Maybe she was too easily distracted by Jareth. His next kiss landed on her nose as she ducked away from it. “I want to know what’s going to happen to me,” she announced in reply to his questioning brow.

“In what way?” All flirtatious intent vanished from his expression. The hands on her waist were no longer teasing but supporting. He always knew when she was really bothered by something.

“Am I going to age?” she murmured. “Will I look like this forever? Am I going to shrivel up beyond recognition? I want to know, Jareth. I want to know _something_ about the future.”

The usual cryptic crap was likely to be his answer. Platitudes about how nobody could be sure of their future, especially in a case like this. “Then we’ll find the right people to ask,” he said. “Wait here, love. I’ll fetch your towel.” With a chaste kiss he left her smiling in surprise and ducked out into the hall.

He was a good man. A _really_ good man. Vague memories of an earlier vision stirred in the back of her mind: Jareth entertaining a bunch of children, a look of pure contentment on his face. Whose kids they were, she could only guess.

Something whispered faintly to her.

“What did you say?” she called as he returned, handing the towel to her as solemnly as if he hadn’t thrown it away in the first place.

“Nothing, pet,” he replied.

_I wish the goblins would come and take you away right now._

Sarah shivered, half-wrapped in the towel. No. Not again. Not so soon. She began vigorously rubbing herself dry, hoping she’d just imagined it.

“What’s the matter?”

                “Nothing,” she lied. “I’m just –”

 _I wish the goblins would come and take you away right now_.

“Shit,” she swore, hands frozen in the act of wringing out her hair, meeting Jareth’s concerned face with a pained expression. “Someone’s made another wish.”

                “I’ll go with you.” Not an ounce of a question was there in that voice.

                Despite her desire for nothing less, Sarah knew she had to be strong. “Don’t be stupid. If the goblins see you they’ll eat you alive. You can’t defend yourself with no magic.”

                “I’m touched that you have such faith in my abilities,” he sniffed.

                Sarah gave his hand an apologetic squeeze. “I just want you to be safe, Jareth.”

                “And what about you? Who’ll keep you safe every time someone makes a wish?”

                “I’m the Goblin Queen,” she told him with a forced smile. Would that title ever feel like it fit her? “I’m pretty much untouchable now.”

                There was a small collection of clothing in the corner of the bathroom on a heavy shelf. It was easy to settle her nerves when concentrating on the motions of getting dressed. Jareth was watching; she could feel his eyes on her as she slipped on a bra. She went about it with little care, snatching up jeans and a tank top. But when she turned to face him he wasn’t smiling appreciatively or anything of the sort. He looked…disapproving. “What?”

                “Your attire doesn’t invoke stirrings of fear and awe, love,” he told her, frowning as she reached for a pair of old sneakers.

                “It didn’t seem to make a difference earlier,” she replied with a shrug. “Besides, I’m not going for the whole ‘fear and awe’ thing like you did. I’m not going to change outfits every five seconds and shower everything in glitter.”

                “I didn’t change _that_ often,” he scowled. Sarah tugged a sneaker on. “You would look rather inspiring in a black dress, at least. Something with a little more…gravitas.”

                “Something that shows a little more skin, you mean,” she mumbled, thinking of the backless gown he’d made her for the Harvest. The things he used to wear had left nothing to the imagination of her fifteen-year-old self. Lord only knew what he’d put her in, given the chance. “I’m going to be late. I have children waiting on me.”

                “We’ll work on it,” he said, following her to the door. “Change is wonderful but that doesn’t mean we have to sacrifice style.”

                Sarah felt no compulsion to roll her eyes. He may have sounded insincere but the way he stuck to her side told of what was really going on. Their banter was nothing but false bravado, procrastination. She knew because it was the way she dealt with things too. If they were too busy making fun of each other he wouldn’t notice the nervous tremble in her hand. And she could pretend not to see the flex of his fingers, just itching to hold her, make her stay, keep her safe.

                But nobody could promise that anymore. They were all through the looking glass with no way back.

                “You’ll be late,” Jareth said softly behind her.

                She’d just been standing there with a hand on the doorknob. Sarah shook her head. “Can’t believe I have to do this again already,” she muttered, turning to him, sighing as he pressed his head to hers.

                “It’s not a job that affords regular hours. Sarah…just remember that everyone is different. Every case, every runner. You have to feel your way around them. And -” he stroked her cheek, eyes heavy with the burden of experience. “Please, _please_ remember that you can’t always save them. And that it’s not your fault if you can’t.”

                She wanted to snap at him that she’d damn well save any kid who threw himself under a bus like this. But only because he’d voiced the fear inside her. Old habits die hard; it was difficult to reign in her temper when she was constantly on edge about making a mistake. After all, lives depended on it now. She caught up his hand, pressed into the hollow of her throat. _I wish you could come with me_. That was her own wish this time, tucked away inside her own head. But she didn’t dare breathe it out. He’d face a thousand fanged goblins if she did. Strong. Be strong. “You just worry about finding the right person for me to ask about this immortal stuff.” That was better. Her voice barely shook.

                He opened his mouth to reply and was cut off by a shout on the other side of the door. More than one shout. A fair few, and a fair amount of ominous growling and chittering too. They exchanged wary glances, Jareth being stubbornly blocked as he tried to stand in front of her. If her suspicion was correct, there was no way she would let him stumble out first. Ignoring his plaintive expression, she gripped the handle resolutely.

                And opened the door to a scene that demanded no less than a heavily sighed: “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

                Goblins. Everywhere. Half a dozen crouching in the hall ready to pounce; a select four attempting to push their way through with curses rough for even a creature of the Underground. The source of the chittering was obvious in the furious tail-lashing of the fanged beasts at her door. The cursing…well, Hoggle was very obviously drunk. And the others were oddly impressionable when drinking with him. She had to raise her voice to be heard over the din. “What the hell is going on?!”

                The stink of the creatures amplified as they all turned to stare at her, fowl breaths heavy in the air. She heard the clink of nails on stone and forced herself to glare into the red eyes of the beasts, refusing to show fear. The clicks and tail-lashing ceased immediately, yet she couldn’t help dreading what would happen when they noticed Jareth behind her. Inwardly she prayed he would just keep his mouth shut and stay out of view. As if he was capable of that.

                “Ssssaraaaah!” Hoggle slurred loudly. His hands were raised in fists at the other goblins, his eyes glazed but bright with idiotic fire. Didymus looked equally ready to jump at someone’s throat, with his dulcimer poised over his head as if it were a sword. Ludo, as usual, was just following his friends. Even if it meant into trouble.

                “M’lady!” the tiny goblin cried, swaying on the spot. “A wish’s-been-made!”

                “I _know_ that, Didymus,” Sarah said with a roll of her eyes. The wish of the child was starting to loop in the back of her mind with insistency. It set her teeth on edge. “I meant, why the hell are you all fighting outside my door?”

                “These no-good Bog-brained fang boys won’t let us nowhere!” Hoggle shouted indignantly and much louder than was necessary. “We told ‘em to stay out o’ the Queen’s rooms an’ they won’t budge! Creepin’ up everywhere, stalkin’ the halls, it ain’t right! Tell ‘em we gots permission to come an’ find yer, Sarah.”

                “This is the most disrespectful display I’ve ever laid eyes on,” said Jareth behind her angrily. Every muscle in Sarah’s body tensed as he pushed his way forward. You couldn’t quite take the King out of him. Hands on hips, mouth a furious thin line, he was all sharp points and icy reprimand. “Not one of you has any right to be wandering the Queen’s private quarters. It has been that way for _centuries_ and it will not change now. And what’s more: you will show all due deference in her presence. You will address her as Your Majesty, or Ma’am, not her birth name as if you were cradle-mates. Do I make myself clear?”

                Human as he had become, stripped of titles and rights, Jareth could command an attentive audience. Hoggle fell silent immediately. Didymus bowed so low to the ground that he was in great danger of tipping over completely. Ludo looked about as meek as he possibly could for someone five times the size of everyone else.

                But he’d gotten the wrong kind of attention from the others. Vicious noise exploded around them; goblins surged around Sarah and dragged Jareth to the ground.

                  _Dead king dead king –_ Sarah shrieked as he disappeared beneath a mob of teeth and claws – _better off dead thing –_ Ludo’s long arms reached out and pulled Jareth into halfway out – _mortal king human king –_ Jareth’s bloodied hand stretched out desperately and Sarah caught it – _rip apart the nobody thing –_

“ _You’re right!_ ” The words were ripped from Sarah’s throat in roaring desperation.

                The noise died. The goblins paused but didn’t relinquish him. “You’re right,” she said again, as her friends stared in confusion and Jareth hung between Ludo and death. There was a bite mark on his forearm and he was covered in bloody scratches. But still alive. “He’s better off dead. Do you know why?”

The monsters glowered but said nothing.

                “Because I did more than take his years and send him Above.” She didn’t dare hesitate, didn’t dare make eye contact with Jareth. He’d have something to say about this for sure. But for now he could damn well be thankful. “I brought him back and made him my slave. I decided he didn’t deserve to be free of us. I want him to see what I’m going to do for the Goblin Realm. _Our_ realm. And he’s going to kiss my shoes and wish he’d been smart enough to respect you all the way I will.” The goblin closest to her, a scaled thing with wolfish eyes, glared at Jareth and flexed its clawed feet. _They don’t believe me_. “Drop him,” she commanded of them and Ludo. He hit the floor with a grunt and staggered to his feet, wide-eyed with shock. Sarah steeled herself. It was the only way to save him. “Did I say you could stand?” she snapped. His frown was expected. “On your knees.” The quiet of the hall rang in her ears; only the ragged breathing of the goblins, ready to tear strips, made her continue. “Get on your knees, I said.”

His mouth, bearing a split lip, flickered between a smirk and a scowl. For a moment she worried he’d be too proud to save his own skin, but no – dozens of eyes followed as he lowered himself onto his knees before her. It sparked a memory of the night she’d run away: her ankle throbbing, hands on fire, him peeling off his gloves to help her despite his fury. From the position she was the only one who could see his expression, hidden behind wayward strands of hair. Something glittered in those eyes. “My shoes,” she commanded. “Kiss them.”

Oh, he’d definitely have something to say to her later on. But it didn’t matter if she could keep him safe. Bowing low, Jareth pressed his lips to the toes of her sneakers. Funnily enough, the way he squeezed her ankle so nobody could see made her wonder just how he planned on getting his own back. The follow-up caress to her calf as he straightened gave a few clues. “See?” she breathed, surprised by her own light-headedness. “There’s nothing left of the King who failed you, so stop looking at him like that.”

The goblins blinked slowly in confusion.

                _Tear the king skin him good snap the bones and lap the blood…?_

God, how those voices disturbed her. Skin crawling as she met those devilish eyes, she was nothing but coolly confident. “If you do that, it’s going to be a bit difficult for him to serve me, isn’t it?”

                The goblin – no, her _subject_ – bowed its head.

                She thought the best thing was to probably distract them from him now. “I told you not to hurt anyone and you’ve done well in respecting that. Well done. But I won’t have goblins running amok in my private quarters. So you’re to stay clear of this level.” Hoggle looked about to nod smugly as if he’d demanded those laws himself. She had to do something about that to keep him out of trouble. “I won’t have _any_ goblins up here,” she reiterated sternly. “That means you as well, Hoggle. And I _especially_ don’t want to open my bathroom door to find you all ready to fight. Ever again. Got that?”

                “Yes Ma’am,” her friends muttered in unison, if a little out of sync and in rather hurt voices.

                “You three stay,” she called firmly as they made to move away. “I have work for you.”

                The others bowed their heads and, with a few last hisses at Jareth, made their way downstairs. When they were alone amongst friends once more, Sarah let her knees give way. “Sorry boys,” she sighed. “It was the only way I could protect you.” Bent double she exhaled a shaky breath, head swimming. How stupid had she been to think a few new rules would keep those creatures in line? One second, just _one second_ too late in thinking and Jareth would have been eaten alive.

                “Are you all right?”

                She looked up at Jareth in his torn clothes and bloodied façade. “Me? What about you?”

                “Just a few scratches,” he told her with a shrug.

                “You call this a scratch?” she murmured, running delicate fingers around the bite on his arm. His wince belied how much it really hurt. “Come on, Jareth. They nearly killed you.”

                “But you saved me,” he countered softly. “You like to do that, don’t you?”

                “Force of habit,” she replied with a smile. “And if you think I’m going to put up with any whining about the shoe thing, you –”

                He silenced her with a kiss. “You used perfect logic on them,” he said in a low voice. “Oh, I’m red-faced with shame, don’t doubt that. But I’m also rather intrigued by this new position you’ve put me in. Would you call it…ownership?”

                She trembled for a different, rather pleasant reason then, until a forced cough behind them shattered the moment. Brynn had joined them. Jareth tensed, unsurprisingly, the fingers that had brushed her cheek now curling around her wrist. It was childish possessiveness but she was too mad at the other Fae to care. “Where the hell have _you_ been? I could’ve really used your help!”

                “I was returning your Elf friend to his family,” the man replied smoothly. A little too smoothly. His words flowed like a slow-running stream, very different from his usual brusque manner. “Sorry for the delay.”

                “Wick?” she asked, distracted by guilt and sympathy. “How’s he doing?”

                “S’fine Sarah!” Hoggle interrupted. “The lad’s thin as parchment but he’s strong as a Dwarf inside!”

                “Yes but he has no talent for storing liquor like a Dwarf,” Brynn added. “I had to carry the fellow to bed.”

Sarah realised it wasn’t just booze on her friends that she could smell. It was coming from Brynn as well. His strangely flowing words and his lateness made a lot more sense. “You were drinking too, weren’t you?” She had to admit being a little impressed. There was no sway in his steps nor a hair out of place.

“Seemed a ‘ppropriate way to celebrate yer victory,” Hoggle said.

“Well you can magic yourself up a sobriety potion,” she said to Brynn sharply. “I need you.”

“I did suggest the Lady would be in need of our services again,” Didymus drawled smugly.

“What makes you think I’m letting you all into the Labyrinth again?” she eyed her drunken ragtag group of friends. “I’m grateful for your help the first time, but that was a one-off. I’m not risking your lives every day.”

“Well that’s just tough,” Hoggle grumbled. “Cos you ain’t got no say in what we do for fun ‘round here, and maybes helpin’ a few kids through a maze is on our leisure list.”

“Since when?” Sarah replied incredulously. “I thought you said you were a coward, Hoggle!”

“Since the Lady doth insist on dangerous liaisons and ensnaring herself in wicked Underground doings,” Didymus answered. “We have taken it upon ourselves to ensure your continuous safety, fair maiden.”

“Ah, a word, love?” Jareth drew her aside. “Might I suggest, strongly, that you leave them all out of this run? The state they’re in…you’re going to have more trouble than help.”

She didn’t need him to tell her that. Hoggle looked about ready to fall asleep on the spot or vomit profusely. Didymus and Ludo seemed incapable of standing without support from one another. “I’m still putting Brynn in there,” she muttered. “He owes me.”

“We have very little magical ability when intoxicated, Sarah. He won’t be of any use.”

                “He’s still the soberest friend I’ve got. Magic or no magic, he’s a tough guy.” This didn’t appease Jareth in the slightest but she didn’t have time to care. The kid’s wish was growing more and more insistent, drowning her other thoughts. Rubbing at her aching head she waved a hand at the drunken goblins. “Go to bed and sleep this off, okay boys? We’ll talk about this ‘continuous safety’ stuff later.”

                “But –”

                “We must –”

                “Sawah –”

                “Do not question your Queen,” Jareth snapped, apparently noticing Sarah’s pained expression. “Do as you’re told. We’ll call on you when we need you.”

                They obeyed, however begrudgingly. Sarah patted Ludo’s back and mouthed an apology as he passed by.

                “I’m afraid I’m only capable of transportation for the time being,” Brynn said. “And little of that as it is.”

                Jareth opened his mouth, surely ready to snap again, but Sarah held him off with a soft touch. “That’s fine, you can take us there and help the kid in any way you can. Thanks.” She met Jareth’s eyes. “Go find Lina,” she told him gently. “Or someone who can fix you up a bit, okay? I’m sick of seeing you covered in blood.”      

                “I only bleed for your sake, love.” He squeezed her hand. “Is there nothing I can do for you?”

                “Just take care of yourself. Don’t piss off any more goblins. And find out who I can talk to about my…age crisis.”

                 “Thy will be done, precious.” They kissed, tenderly, ignoring Brynn’s stony turned-away face. Then Sarah reached out for the Fae’s arm so that they could be whirled away to their duties.

On the other side of the world, she found a small girl brimming with regret.

                “Hey,” she called gently. “I’m Sarah.”

 

* * *

 

 

In a way she was grateful for the years in the Dust Bowl. Growing up a member of the Royal Family, and Heir to the Throne no less, had granted Lina much knowledge of politics. While not entirely boring, it hadn’t left much time for practical experience. Life in the Palace had planted seeds in her head; life in the Dust Bowl had forced her to sow them. And so she was content now to stride the length of her mother’s office and spew forth commands as they came to mind. She was hardened by experience and burdened by knowledge. She held gravitas with the Council. Well, enough to keep them from throwing her to the Hordes or treating her like a child. More than a few short words had seen to that.

                Yet there was still a part of her that itched with unease. She felt it down to her bones. This was the life she’d trained for, had been born for. But Lina El’Maven had once dreamt of running far away with her brother and his books, travelling the Domain until they grew unrecognisable with age. She’d imagined eloping with Kiff and rearing their children on the slopes of Mount Myst. No politics, no laws, just love. Maybe in another version of reality those were real possibilities. Perhaps she was having words with her beloved husband for something he’d forgotten to do; they might have been together so long that she’d learnt the luxury of taking him for granted. Perhaps she and Jareth were knee deep in the heavy snow of the Kittayne Pass, arguing over who’d gotten them lost. Funny how she liked to imagine the bad times among the good. It granted her daydreams a modicum of realness. She’d always been one for committing to the play.

                If she could just do so now, they’d sail through the next few days with ease.

                “Is it finished?”

                She blinked at the parchment spread before her, ink still glistening in its freshness. Her hand was poised with the quill over the spot awaiting her signature. How long had she been staring at it? Marina stood opposite her at the desk, hands folded at her waist, barely suppressing an impatient scowl. And she was the _most_ supportive member of the Council! Lina had a lot of respect to earn. Which was something of a joke, really, considering most of her Councillors had sent her to the Dust Bowl to begin with. **_Focus,_** _woman._ With a quick flourish the parchment was signed and sealed. Marina reached out to take it but Lina tightened her grip at the last minute, forcing the woman to wait.

                “Have you word from the others about Jareth yet? Will they allow him to attend the ceremony?” she asked, ignoring the spark of hope that wanted to slip into her voice. The Council were adamant about who could and couldn’t attend the funeral of the late Queen, even without a body to view. In this matter she had little say, which didn’t bother her too much – except for the fact that she _had_ to be there. It was not her desire to be anywhere near those who mourned the loss of that woman, but circumstance dictated. It was the principle of the matter. And maybe it was selfish of her but if Lina had to go than she wanted Jareth by her side. Even if he was inwardly cursing every breath Mira had ever taken, it would be less painful with him there. Whether the Council let him after all that had happened was still yet to be known. Marina, who had taken a liking to Sarah and consequently put her faith in Lina, had been needling the Council for an answer.

                “You ask a very complicated favour of us,” she told Lina in that deep voice so like her twin’s. “It is tradition for the siblings to be there…but you must understand how we – they – see Jareth now. If not for him, your mother would still be alive. You are asking for the murderer to attend the funeral.”

                “Jareth did nothing wrong,” Lina replied tersely. “Everything that happened to that woman was brought about by the Fates and her own decisions.”

                Marina didn’t blink as she stared at the Princess with those hard eyes. “I was there at the start of her reign, you know. She always said that she ‘did what had to be done, and was who she had to be’. You might find yourself living those same words in the future.”

                “That may well be,” she murmured. “But _never_ in the way my mother did.”

Fingers still pinching the edge of the missive, Marina’s mouth curved up in a subtle smile. “Life has a peacekeeper has done you some good, Princess. Your backbone has hardened significantly since you were a child.”

“Do you really think so? Or are you trying to ease your guilty conscience for being on the Council that sent me there?”

“You won’t find it easy to gain support with that tongue,” Marina replied stiffly.

Lina allowed the envelope to slip free. “I want an answer from them by tomorrow morning,” she said bluntly. “The ceremony is in two days.” _I need time to make Jareth agree to go._ Time that she might never have, if they didn’t keep piling up her desk with matters regarding the coronation. It was a panicky thought that forced her attention back to the missive in the woman’s hands. Her ascension to the throne was being announced today, word sent to every community in the Domain. The inauguration was to be in two weeks’ time. It was breaking tradition to have a funeral before such a public event, but they couldn’t delay laying Mira El’Maven to rest. Her people were adamant about clarity, about definition between one reign and the next. If it meant the Domain went without a legitimate Queen for two weeks, then so be it.

                Dismissing Marina, Lina sank back into her chair with a heavy sigh. She was exhausted by a long night and morning of hammering away at letters and arguing with the Council. Surely she deserved an hour to herself?

                “Are you bored by duties of the Throne already, sister of mine? A pity. I’d hedged my bets on you lasting at least a week.”

                Though her heart soared at Jareth’s voice, Lina couldn’t help opening her mouth with a smart retort ready – until she caught sight of his red visage. “Who’s blood is that?” she asked fervently, springing to her feet. He strolled toward the desk and perched on the edge of it while she busied herself with inspecting him.

                “Mine, of course,” he answered, fidgeting while she poked at the bite mark on his arm. “Who’d you think it belonged to?”

                “You have a nasty track record, brother,” she murmured. “I can never be sure if it’s not a runner’s or Sarah’s.”

                “Well it’s mine,” he snapped.

                “Sorry,” she said, cupping his jaw in her hands. “That was insensitive of me. But Jareth…what happened?” She started the healing process while he talked, watching the dark spots of blood disappear with the scratches and teeth marks. When he’d finished reciting and she’d healed his wounds, she found herself welling with irritation. “Of course they attacked you,” she chided him. “Why did you think it would be safe to loll about the Castle like that? The hordes need time, Jareth. Time to adjust, to change their thinking. Hive minds are slow to accept new ways.”     

                “ _I know_ how the goblins work, Lina,” Jareth told her in a low, careful voice. “I ruled them for over a hundred years, you might recall.”

                “I’m just saying that you need to be wary,” she replied gently, softening her tone. She took up a seat on the edge of the desk beside him. “You’re not indestructible.”

                “I’m growing _very_ bored of people assuming I’m made of glass,” he grumbled, picking at a torn thread in his shirt.

                “How is poor Sarah handling it? She understands, doesn’t she?”

                “That she’ll most likely outlive me? Yes, there’s been some discussion about that. She seems to think she can fix me. Won’t allow any other possibility.”

                Lina smiled. “I do like that woman.”

                “I’m rather fond of her myself.”

                He was more than that, of course. Just how much did she mean to him, this woman? Was she worth more than a few centuries on the Throne? Lina knew the answer in her heart, but couldn’t bear to think about it just yet. “Where is she? I thought you’d have chained yourselves together to avoid being separated again.”            

                “She’s answering another wish,” he said in a forcibly casual tone. “No rest for the deliciously wicked.”

                He’d never been able to hide his doubts from her, but that response had lacked any semblance of commitment to the lie.  “You’re worried about her.”

                “Naturally,” he sniffed, brushing the hair from his eyes.

                “She’s stronger than I am, you know.”

                “I never said you were weak,” he told her sharply. “I never meant it that way when I took your place.”

                “I know,” she murmured, looping their arms together. “Sarah was meant for this role. She brings something to it that nobody else could ever manage.”

                “That doesn’t mean I can’t worry about her.”

                “No, it doesn’t.” He looked ready to pout or sulk or else ruin her hour of freedom, so she made the decision to move them along. “Come on.” Tugging on her brother’s arm, they left the office in search of a nice view. Precious little time was left to her for such luxuries. Admiring the gardens with Jareth would take the sting out of a busy day. “How exactly did you get here, by the way?”

                “A gateway left open,” he told her with a petulant sniff. “Shoddy craftsmanship at that, if you ask me. The weave won’t hold longer than a few days.”

                “Ah. I see.”

                He frowned at her knowing smirk as they reached the doors to the North Balcony. “What?”

                “We knew Brynn Fel Vaden as children, brother. Don’t you remember? He was never as bad as you made him out to be. A little aloof, yes, but he’s a descendent of Ezra. That’s to be expected.”

                “How can you make light of this?” Jareth grumbled, sweeping back a curtain of ivy for her to pass through. “You know what he did to Sarah.”

                “And I know he’s seeking penance for it,” she told him sternly. They took up a position leaning against the marble balustrade together. The air was cool and fresh; oh how she’d missed the clean Palace winds. “Why do you think he’s spent the last few days by her side?”

                From the dark look on his face he had a few unpleasant suspicions.

                “Jareth. Brynn is no threat to Sarah. That man feels _guilt,_ not some silly transference of loyalty between rulers. For someone like him to show regret is important.”

                “I regret every goblin I sent into the Labyrinth after a runner, every child who I made weep with my taunting. That doesn’t erase the fact that I still did it. What’s done is done.”

                “So you’re saying you aren’t worthy of forgiveness either? Or redemption?” Lina frowned. “How do you live then, brother? How do you face each day under the weight of that guilt?”

                “I face each day for Sarah,” he answered simply.

                “And do you not think that’s exactly what Brynn might be doing?”

                He didn’t have a response to that.

                “In a non-romantic fashion, of course,” she continued on, satisfied by his silence. “I doubt he’s progressed so far into the expansion of his emotional range as to understand what attraction is.”

                Her wry tone and serious expression wrung a smile from him. Fleeting, but there long enough for her to see. Visibly relaxing, Jareth tapped a rhythm on the marble with nimble fingers. It struck her just _how long_ it had been since they’d stood like this together in the Palace, conversing and bickering and soothing one another’s hurts. He’d been a different person then, a lanky bookish youth with limitless patience reserved for her. Stilling his fingers with her own hand, Lina gave his wrist an affectionate squeeze the way she used to as a baby. “Do you remember when I used to steal your books so you’d have to stop studying?” she murmured, propping her head on his shoulder. “You never once shouted at me.”

                “Not even when you dropped my favourite thesis into the Borderland marshes,” he replied idly. “I should have been given a medal for my ability to not yell at you.”

                “It was nothing a little magic couldn’t take the mud out of.”

                “I swear I was smelling it for days afterwards. The marshes weren’t dissimilar from the Bog, in those days.”

                “You got your retribution,” she chastised him. “I was itching for weeks after those Scritch Beetles somehow got into my bed.”

                His laugh was sudden and wondrous. “I’d forgotten about that.”

                “I need you to attend Mira’s funeral with me.” Inwardly she winced. She’d intended to step around the notion, to warm him up to the idea first. Not throw it in his face with abandon. Maybe it was the talk of the past, of how much he meant to her, that drove her to ask so bluntly. Anxiety had been filtering through since she’d realised she’d be forced to go.

                Jareth seemed more surprised by the change of topic than what she was asking. “I wondered when you’d bring that up,” he murmured unhappily. “The Council won’t allow it.”

                “I’m working on them. I’ll have their answer soon enough.”

                “You have to go, don’t you?”

                She nodded. He said nothing, staring into the gardens below them. “Jareth –”

                A loud throat-clearing stopped her short. Turning to the doors as one, they found Brynn approaching. The look on his face left no question as to why he’d appeared.

                “She’s finished?” Jareth asked stiffly, receiving a curt nod from the other man.

                “Already?” Lina met her brother’s worried gaze. It must have only been a few hours. Nobody solved the Labyrinth that quickly. It meant only one outcome. She reached out to squeeze Jareth’s hand in support but he was already rushing up to meet Brynn across the balcony.

                “Where is she?” he asked.

                “She asked to be taken to the library,” Brynn answered, his voice giving away no clues as to Sarah’s condition. He’d offered his arm before Jareth even had the chance to ask to be transported. Then, turning back to Lina as if they hadn’t been interrupted, Jareth laid his free hand on her shoulder.

                “I only dreaded the day you asked me because I knew I wouldn’t say no,” he said gently.

                Her sigh of relief got stuck on the way out, caught somewhere between worry for Sarah and guilt for her brother. “Thank you,” she murmured before he disappeared with Brynn.

                Alone on the balcony, she took a moment to think on what she’d been avoiding. It was nice to see her brother’s face light up with love and concern over someone other than herself. Someone who could be there for him in ways a sister wouldn’t be. And it cemented in her the belief that when it came down to it, what she’d decided to do was absolutely the right thing. No matter the cost.

 

* * *

 

 

There was little time for talk, which was perfectly fine by him. One moment Jareth was catching a strangely resolute gleam in Lina’s eyes and the next he was whirling through a stream of black and colour. He had to hold tight to Brynn’s arm; losing his magic had left him without much stomach strength for transporting. He was dizzy when they arrived outside the library but did his best not to let the other man know.

                “Was it bad?” he asked Brynn, ignoring the white spots flickering at the corner of his vision.

                Brynn straightened his jacket with a blank face. “Not particularly,” he answered. “Not compared to anything you’ve seen. But I would exercise caution. She seems…sensitive.”

                Jareth grumbled a reluctant thanks before leaving the man alone in the hall. The library was quieter than he remembered, the books’ Songs subdued. Neglected. The sad thought was meek against memories of the time he and Sarah had spent in this room, arguing and reading in silence and falling in love. He liked to think the library would hold those memories within it forever, keep it safe against anything beyond the door. Moving deeper into the sitting area he found her.

                She was lying prostrate on the lounge, hugging a pillow to her chest and looking as if an invisible weight had pinned her there. The ceiling seemed to hold her attention for the moment, eyes wide and focused. She barely blinked as he took a seat on the floor beside her. He didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. What words could he offer right now? Instead, he wove fingers into her hair and swept it gently back from her face.

                “I did everything right,” she said blankly after a while. “I talked to her about the kid she hated; I asked about her life; I told her all the things I told Luka. Brynn helped her stay safe. I thought she felt guilty, that she’d understood what she’d done. But then it was like – it was like she just gave up. The maze got too hard. She just – wasn’t strong enough. Or clever enough, or caring, or whatever the hell you’d think she’d have been.” Sarah turned her wide eyes to him, expression unchanging. “She told me I could just have the kid and off she went. Didn’t even care about the life she’d just ruined.”

                Jareth had been through this a thousand times. He understood. And he knew what he needed to tell her, what had taken him decades to learn on his own. “What happens to people in this game is self-determined,” he told her gently. She curled up onto her side, one hand reaching out to lay against his shoulder as he continued stroking her hair. She was so young, by his standards, but in that moment she looked as old as any Fae. And as tired. Centuries and heavy burdens did that to anyone just the same. “You can move the pieces and guess all you like but in the end it’s what they’ve been through that helps them make the choice. You can’t change who a person is in two hours, love.”

                “So deep down some people are just nasty selfish assholes?”

                “It’s not always as simple as that. Sometimes when it’s a child they get scared. They make the wrong choice without thinking too much about it. And yes, there’s consequences that they won’t have to live with, but it’s just the way it goes. It doesn’t make them bad people. They just had weak moments.”

                “Well a weak moment for Abigail just cost Diego his life as a human.”

                “A word of advice, pet: passing judgement just makes you weary. Accept the outcome and move on.”

                Sarah rolled onto her back again, resuming her old position, and exhaled hard. “Tough job, hey? I can see why you quit.”

                “I didn’t quit, if you’ll recall. I was ousted and forced to serve my usurper. At least that’s what the goblins think.”

                She wriggled into the back of the couch to make room for him and soon they were pressed together sharing breathing space. He could feel the tension beginning to ease from her. “I knew you wouldn’t just let that go.”

                He smiled gently and kissed her once. “Well at least the creatures will be happy, now that they’ve gotten a new addition to the horde.”

                “They think it’s a game now, how many humans they can trick or scare into becoming like them. They think it’s a way of getting their own back, I guess. Which is fine by me, I suppose, as long as they don’t kill anyone.”

                “A wise position to take.”

                “Don’t see that I have much choice anyway.”     

                “You say that often for someone who just stood the world on its head so she could keep her boyfriend.”

                Her eyebrows shot up in mock surprise. “Oh, so we’ve approved that term now have we?”

                “You’re very persuasive. As I said once before, you’re quite used to getting your way.”

                “I thought you were here to look after me,” she chastised, feigning hurt even as she burrowed further into his chest. Her breath was warm on his neck, slow and measured. It stirred in him a thousand sensations: memories of unfurling sleepily against her, visions of cradling a child between them during a storm, notions of peace and contentment and overwhelming protectiveness. Such a simple little action to do so much to him. He marvelled at her very existence and in the same breath cursed another’s.

                “I have to attend Mira’s funeral,” he said grimly, running fingers up the back of her neck idly.

                Sarah’s head shot up to stare at him angrily. “What? After everything she did to us? Why?”

                “Lina has to go,” he explained. “She asked me to be there for her.”

                “Oh.” She pursed her lips, thumb rubbing a circle in the hollow of his throat. “Well, can I be there too? For you?”

                It repulsed him, the idea of Sarah standing there pretending to mourn the woman who’d tried to kill her. “I don’t think that’s wise. There’s been talk of you throughout the Domain for months, and not much of it positive. Besides, I’ll have my sister. It’ll be over before we know it. Then I can get back to avidly hating the late Queen with every fibre of my cosmic being.”

                He’d intended to make her smile but it didn’t work, apparently just reminding her of other matters that needed thought. “When does Lina take the throne?” she asked. “Can I go to that ceremony? I’d like to be there. It’s going to be a big deal for her.”

                “In any other case you’d be on the list of formally invited, given your status as ruler.”

                “But in this case I’m human, right?”

                “We’ll just have to wait and see. I expect there’s to be some sort of announcement about the new person on the Labyrinth Throne.”

                “But you’re human too, so what does that mean? Is your name scratched off the list as well?”

                “Well, I’m mortal, not human. But I’m also the Royal Prince, so I’m granted certain rights.”

                “Speaking of mortality…” she extricated herself from him and sat up. “Have you thought of anyone we can talk to about that yet?”

                It was difficult to work his way out from beneath her legs, so Jareth took a moment to answer. “We only discussed that a few hours ago, love. Give a man a little more time.”

                “But don’t you have, I don’t know, doctors or healers or something? People who know about this kind of stuff?”

“They wouldn’t know anything about transference. It’s too far back in our knowledge. We need a historian.”

“Okay. So where do we find one?”

“We have a few choices. Let me do some research and get back to you.” Stretching, Jareth stifled a yawn and laid a hand on Sarah’s knee. “What would you like to do now?”

“Mmm,” she nodded, clearly still preoccupied by the need for information. “Would Lina know anyone? Maybe I could talk to her.”

Jareth rolled his eyes. “Persistent little creature, aren’t you?”

“Don’t you want to know if you can be fixed?”

“I’m not broken, love. Anyway, I thought this was about clearing up your future as the ageless woman of Above?”

She shrugged and got to her feet, a little too quick to dismiss the matter. “I want to talk to Diego. The poor kid’s probably terrified…”

If she was quick to change subject, he didn’t bring it up. The truth was, he didn’t particularly want to find out his future. Much as he denied it, a life without his magic was less than desirable. _I’m not broken, love._ But every minute he spent back in the Underground made him itch with loss, like it had been cut out of him without warning. Sarah and Lina’s presence made it easier to push aside but not to completely forget. He let her lead the way out, noting the anxious tap of her free hand against her thigh and the pinch to her face. _You’re a selfish ghoul,_ he thought to himself. There was no way their little conversation had completely soothed Sarah’s ache after the Labyrinth loss. She was feigning flippancy just as much as he. If he had to face his mortality so that she could gain a little comfort, then so be it.

Besides, there were far worse truths for her to face in the very immediate future.

 

* * *

 

 

The story book had gotten it wrong.

People lost to the Goblin Queen didn’t just live in the castle and evolve into creatures over hundreds of years. Their punishment was instantaneous and without mercy. The thing that gawked at Sarah with beady little eyes wasn’t Diego anymore. It paced back and forth along the cell door, screeching to be let out in a voice far removed from anything human. Sarah watched in horrified silence, stomach turning, as it clicked its sharp nails against the bars and whined, flashing flat, chipped teeth.

                “Please Majesty lets me out?” it repeated incessantly.

                Jareth looked at it with a mix of pity and disgust, standing back a way, arms folded.

                Sarah glared at him. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked in a low, carefully calm voice. She refused to fly off the handle. Queens didn’t do that sort of thing, and it wouldn’t achieve much anyway.

                “You’ve been through enough,” he told her gently, gaze finally leaving the goblin. “I wanted to spare you the truth for as long as possible.”

                “What is it with Fae men and thinking they need to censor me?” she groaned, frustration fogging her thoughts. “I needed to know this. You shouldn’t have kept this from me. Jesus, this is like Brynn all over again.”

                “What did Brynn lie about?” he asked quickly, frowning.

                “It doesn’t matter, I told him what was what.” She gestured at the goblin now gnawing mindlessly on the bars, drooling idiotically. “Don’t try to wriggle out of this. Dammit Jareth, this was a boy a few hours ago! A little kid! And now he’s the runt of the monster litter! Did you just expect me to never find out?” So much for keeping calm.

                “Of course not,” he snapped. “I thought you knew! But when it became apparent that you didn’t, I couldn’t bring myself to tell you. Forgive me for not wanting to add to your pile of moral dilemmas!”

                “Well if you’d told me I could have –”

                “Could have what, Sarah? Could have _what_?” Jareth’s voice was quiet and demanding, his expression grim. “There’s nothing you could have done differently. Trust me, I know. I spent thirty years trying to reverse the transformations, to save those people. But the spell goes back farther than even I can comprehend. It can’t be undone.”

                She was an idiot. Still an idiot, after all this time. If there’d been a way to fix it, of course Jareth would have done it. He’d had over a century to deal with the problem. What could she have hoped to achieve in a few days, without any more magic than the remnants of his abilities? He was glaring at the floor, arms folded defensively. As usual when it came to his past, she felt drawn toward him by sympathy. But this time she refused to yield. He still should have told her. “You’re right,” she muttered, touching the crook of his elbow. He didn’t move. “I’m sorry. I keep forgetting how long you had to do this for.” He dragged his gaze up to hers, glare softening. “But you can’t keep this sort of thing from me, okay? I told Brynn the same thing: you don’t get to make those decisions for me.” Jareth’s expression said he very much wanted to ask what the man had done, but was holding back for her sake. She had to hand it to him, he was good at knowing when not to push her. “He didn’t tell me when you got back with Lina because he thought it would distract me from the run with Luka,” she explained quickly. “But it’s over and done with and if you pick a fight about it I’m going to make you kiss my shoes again.”

                The smile they shared was not long lived. Soon enough Sarah was forced to acknowledge that her job was crueller than she could have imagined. Releasing the goblin, they watched it scurry off grumbling something about ale and fodder.

                “He’s been Erased from the Above,” Jareth murmured before she could ask. “Nobody to be upset by this. Even he doesn’t remember.”

                “ _I_ will,” Sarah replied, a promise to herself and to the boy, the first arrival of what would be many in the years to come.

 

* * *

 

 

They spent the morning before the funeral on the beach. Jareth was sick of grim and grey. Lina wanted to spend her precious little spare time with the two of them and Sarah wanted something to remind her of home. The Summer Room had seemed to fit their needs quite well. She was happily sprawled out on a towel, hand thrown over her face to block the sun. Lina and Jareth were murmuring together not far off, towels overlapping. She let them talk uninterrupted. No doubt they were both brimming with emotional baggage over their plans for the day, and it didn’t seem like something she could help with. Instead she rolled onto her stomach and busied herself with making tiny sand cities. It was soothing to indulge in the innocent, familiar motions, an escape after the chaos of yesterday. The sand was gritty underneath her fingernails. She scraped a few piles together and gathered sticks and stones within arm’s reach. Toby loved building sand castles, big gaudy affairs with moats and bridges. Alice loved kicking everything down. But Sarah had always enjoyed more intricate layouts. Running a finger through the sand, she made streets. The sticks became fences. Water poured from her glass made the piles damp enough to form vague house shapes.

                Every so often she quelled the urge to pull Lina aside and interrogate her. She still hadn’t had time to ask anyone about her visions and what they meant. Brynn was busy in the Palace, apparently working on the Council’s acceptance of Sarah. The boys were still recovering from their hangovers and didn’t seem a likely source of information anyway. Wick was preparing Keel’s funeral, an affair she really wanted to attend but was uncertain about asking. She still felt responsible for the death of his cousin, no matter what they told her. And she didn’t want to involve Jareth in this if she could help it. The visions were of _his_ future, after all, some of which worried her no small amount. Surely they weren’t all accurate, if they conflicted with one another? But the most recurrent pieces of information seemed too logical to deny: that she and Jareth would be together for a long time, and that Lina would sacrifice something for her brother. The former made her feel aglow with happiness, the latter plucked at her nerves like a cellist in some sick symphony. There were so many things she wanted information on. Her immortality, Jareth’s magic, the strength of her visions, how she might stop them. It was an exhausting list. She decided to concentrate on digging a well for the sand city.

                Jareth was watching her. She could always tell, even without looking, but their hushed voices indicated a private conversation. Sarah didn’t mind. Siblings had their own secret language and since yesterday Jareth had kept watch over her regardless of what he was doing. He was just as likely to be discussing life in the Dust Bowl as he was to be talking about her, still with a careful eye. It was sweet that he worried, but really she thought he should be concentrating more on his sister for the time being. They _were_ about to send off the memory of their terrible mother. Glancing up quickly she caught his eye and smiled, ready to mouth that he should stop staring, when Lina’s words drifted over.

                “…there’s only one person who’s worthy of the title historian, Jareth. You know that.”

Historian? In a flash she was up and heading over just as Jareth shook his head.

“You need to take her to Malibar,” Lina insisted.

                “Where’s that?” Sarah asked, settling down beside Lina without preamble. The woman didn’t blink at the intrusion.

                “Not where,” she shook her head patiently. “Who. Jareth’s old teacher.”

                Sarah eyed him incredulously. “You know a historian? Why did you ask for more time to find someone?”

                “Because my brother here is worried about getting in trouble with his teacher,” Lina replied with a dismissive wave of her hand, as if the matter was beneath serious contemplation. “He still thinks Malibar’s upset with him, even though it was over a century ago.”

                “And how does that time measure to a man of his age?” Jareth replied petulantly, sitting up. “That’s yesterday to him. Do you think he’ll be at all cooperative? He was never easy to handle, even at the best of times.”

                “Jareth, she needs to see him. You know she does. Stop being a child.”

                “I’m not –” he clenched his jaw, thought better of arguing, and sighed. “I don’t know where he is anymore.”

                “I’m sure it won’t be difficult to find out.”

                Sarah watched this exchange with a flutter of amusement. Jareth almost seemed to be pouting. She loved that someone other than herself could dig at him in such a way. He’d had far too long to be the pompous feared King, distanced from the nuances of life with good people. “Why is Malibar upset with you?”

                “Because he values knowledge above everything else,” Jareth replied grumpily. “And he was disgusted when I gave up studying to take Lina’s place on the Throne.”

                “So he’s just another cold-blooded Fae with no emotional capacity?” Sarah repeated Lina’s earlier dismissive gesture. “I think I can handle his type. Give him a few hours with me and he’ll see clearly.”

                Jareth smirked but shook his head nonetheless. “He’s one of the oldest living Fae in existence, Sarah. Possible _the_ oldest – I’d wager even he’s not sure that he’s not. Someone like that is a little trickier to butter up.”

                “But offered a puzzle like you, I’m certain he’ll take interest enough to answer your questions,” Lina reassured her. “He might even have heard of another case of transference between species.”

                “Lina,” Jareth said warningly.

                She threw her hands up innocently. “What? It’s entirely possible.” Her eyes lit up. “In fact, I’d love to come with you. I know he hated me but it would be fascinating to see what he makes of you.” Her gaze fell on Sarah as she said this, expression bright and eager.

                “You’re getting ahead of yourself,” Jareth grumbled. “He mightn’t even let us visit.”

                Sarah didn’t want Lina to come. She wanted to ask this Malibar about the visions without giving too much away to anyone. The less Lina found out about what she might sacrifice the better. It might make it easier for Sarah to stop her. She was sick of martyrdom among the people she cared about. “I like your enthusiasm but I’m not a sideshow,” she said to the woman respectfully. “This is my life we’re talking about, not some part of me that needs to be dissected for fun.”

                “She’s right,” Jareth said before Lina could apologise. “Perhaps we stop treating this with such lightness, hmm?”

                “And you,” Sarah poked him in the arm, “Get over your role model issues and call this guy up. I’m sure he’d be happy to have his old student back. You’ve definitely got a lot to catch up on.”

                Lina’s laugh was rusty, as if she were out of practice, but genuine. “Oh, I really like you,” she announced emphatically. “Very well Sarah, I’ll stay behind. But I expect the full story when you come back.”

                “Yes ma’am.” Sarah loved the woman’s smile. It had a richness similar to her girlfriend’s, sweet and inclusive and sisterly all at once. _Please don’t do anything stupid_ , she begged silently, remembering her visions. _He needs you._

                “I’ll find out where he is tonight,” Jareth went on, “And we’ll try to see him tomorrow. Is that acceptable to you, your Majesty?”

                He wasn’t referring to the Princess. Grinning despite her tumultuous nerves, Sarah winked at Lina before getting to her feet. “Good. Now that’s settled, I’ll leave you two alone. Sorry to interrupt.”

                “No need to stray too far,” Jareth said as he repositioned himself on the towel.

                “Course not,” she replied affectionately as the siblings huddled together again. She gestured at her beach creation behind her. “My city needs me though. I’ve got urgent duties to attend to.”

                Though they smiled at her in unison, Sarah could see the strain. Big things were happening for them soon, for all of them soon enough. She just hoped they’d all be okay by the end of it.

 


	19. For Him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I just…I keep counting the days, hoping someone will tell me it’s been a joke. That he’s coming back. That Blackstar wasn’t his way of saying goodbye. If anyone wants to message me to talk about it, to laugh or cry or complain just to feel better, my email is bluehenrybrisbane@gmail.com. Feel free. I have been lost for 13 days, but have found something to cling to in writing this story. I am one chapter and an epilogue away from the end. Love to everyone. xxx
> 
>  

 

**Chapter Eighteen: For Him**

 

To say she wasn’t looking forward to this conversation was an understatement. There was just no easy way to argue with friends when they only wanted to help. But Sarah was tired of worrying about people – sometimes she got so mad at herself for not thinking twice about calling them in to help – and this would just give her four more people to stress over. They hadn’t even _begun_ to talk about the possibility of reversing their transformations – that was another pot waiting to boil over.

On top of these issues she’d had little sleep waiting for Jareth last night. He’d returned at some unholy hour in a foul mood, waking her with the force of the way he’d ripped the sheets back from his side of the bed. Despite her best attempts at questioning he’d refused to say anything that didn’t sound like a direct insult to his mother in Fae tongue. This morning had seen him in a slightly better mood, if cursing in English could be considered an improvement. She’d left him grumbling in the bay window with the prettiest view when Hoggle had asked for a meeting. Hopefully he’d have cooled off enough to talk by the time she returned. He really shouldn’t have gone to the funeral.

But that was a discussion for later. The people sitting at the table required her full attention and thinking about Jareth wouldn’t speed up the conversation. Hoggle was looking impatient, as was Didymus – though he was always fairly jittery. Ludo sat beside her with his head resting carefully on the table, like a dog deep in thought. His eyes glistened and his long ears took in everything that was being said. Brynn gave off nothing as usual. He just sat there in silence, waiting for her to start.

“All right,” she sighed, clinging to her coffee for support. “I’m all ears. Convince me this is a good idea.”

Hoggle looked oddly self-important for a stinking, snub-nose goblin. Drawing himself up neatly, he splayed out his gnarled hands on the tabletop and addressed Sarah calmly but firmly. “You ain’t got to do this on your own all the time. We care about you too damn much to see –”

“Stop right there,” Sarah interrupted sharply, leaning forward in her chair. “You can’t use that in your argument and hope to win. You care about me and I care about you; it cancels itself out as a reason because it makes sense on both sides.” Ignoring their titters, she leant back in her seat and idly twirled the sugar spoon in her fingers. “Start again. Why should I let my best friends face the Labyrinth on a regular basis when I can’t guarantee you’ll always be safe?”

“Because you got us in to help the first time without thinkin’ twice,” Hoggle muttered.

Sarah did her best to ignore what she’d been painfully aware of for days. “I think Didymus has something to say,” she intoned dryly without looking at the little goblin.

“Thou cannot be so certain of one’s _own_ safety, my Lady!” Didymus exclaimed. He’d been sitting between Hoggle and Ludo when the meeting started but had already taken to pacing the surface of the table. His nimble clawed feet picked out careful paths around the tea accoutrements. “These are peculiar times we live in, unchartered and new – who can promise _anyone_ sanctuary when –?”

“Stop yer babblin’,” Hoggle interjected with a roll of his eyes. “She’s heard all that before.” He turned back to Sarah. “Look. Maybe this ain’t all about you, okay? Maybe Hoggle remembers what it was like before, when the Castle was full o’ creatures that used to be people, and we don’t want no more of that. If we can make it so kids like Diego don’t get stuck as things like us, then shouldn’t we get to make that choice for ourselves?”

Sarah considered Hoggle carefully. It wasn’t like him to volunteer – no, _demand_ – a job like this. At least it wasn’t like the _old_ Hoggle, who’d balked at every shadow and sworn no loyalty but to himself. The friend she knew these days was full of surprises. And now he wanted to save children, at any hour of the day or night, by running a nightmare maze? “It doesn’t work like that,” she told him softly, burdened by her own recent lesson. “You can help a runner all you like but it won’t always affect their choice in the long run. It’s up to them to save people, not you.”

“I am a knight, my Lady,” Didymus said with a bow, for once reasonably calm. “It is always my duty to save others. If thou wouldst grant me permission, I would serve well the runners of the Above no matter their disposition come the final judgement. Wouldst thou deny a baker to bake? A bird to fly? I am a knight…and I must serve and protect.”

                “All right fine: you’re a knight. But Hoggle’s a gardener, Didymus. Shouldn’t I let him tend the gardens, by your own reasoning?”

                “Plenty of time to do that between runs,” Hoggle answered. “Was gettin’ sick of sprayin’ fairies anyways. This seems as good a distraction as any, don’t it? Besides, this’ll give us more reason to be around you without makin’ the other beasts suspicious.”

“Ludo?” Sarah turned to the big goblin, who lifted his head from the table.

He nudged her hand with his bristly face and whined softly. “Ludo help,” he announced in that voice like distant thunder. “Always help.”

How could she deny them? “But I don’t _want_ you to help. I don’t want you to risk it.”

“Well that’s just too bad, ain’t it? Tell her, Brynn. Tell Sarah she has to let us.”

Brow raised, Sarah met the Fae’s eyes over the rim of her mug. “Yeah Brynn. Tell me I have to let them.”

                The corner of his mouth twitched as his head shook just the tiniest bit. For him that was a chuckle and a grin, and she knew somehow she’d lost the argument. “I could argue many a fair point but, ultimately, the decision lies with Sarah.” How did he manage to make that sound as if it lay anywhere _but_ with her? His subtlety was lost on the goblins, who broke out in varying cries of disgust at the apparent betrayal.

                “We still have to talk about your transformations,” she said loudly over the din. “Aren’t you guys sick of being smelly old goblins? If you stay here, you can’t ever be put back to normal. No one can ever know you were the ones who helped me years ago. I have a feeling it wouldn’t be appreciated.”

                “The air is sweet as it’s always been, my Lady!” Didymus insisted.

                “There are worse things to be than half-goblin, the way I see it,” sniffed Hoggle.

                Sensing the discussion was reaching its conclusion, Sarah turned pleadingly to Ludo. His expression gave her no hope. “Let me guess: you just always want to help, right?” He patted her hand and smiled with those huge fangs. How had she ever been intimidated by them? They just made his gentleness more apparent. 

                “Sarah.” Hoggle’s voice was more patient, once it seemed he’d won. “You don’t want us to do it because you’re afraid of us gettin’ hurt, right? Don’t yer reckon Jareth sees it the same way, with your takin’ on the Throne? And you tell him to shut it when he says so, don’t yer?”

                One shared glance with Brynn told her he was probably thinking just the same. Finding her coffee altogether too bitter now, Sarah set it down and threw her hands up in defeat. “Fine!” she groaned, “You can do it. Form your little squad or band or whatever you’re going to call it.”

                She expected them to cheer and thank her with hugs by the way they’d been going on about it all. Instead she received surprisingly solemn nods, like she’d bestowed the heavy tasks upon them herself. Didymus bowed low, his whiskered nose brushing the wood of the table. Hoggle exchanged a satisfied yet serious look with Brynn, as if they’d just been appointed partners in the endeavour. Ludo whined again and laid his head upon the table, close enough that he was pressed against her side. Well, at least they were all acknowledging the weight of their choice. It might keep them safe a little longer. “I want promises that you won’t take stupid risks,” she added crossly. “No sacrificing yourselves for a runner, no giving the real goblins an excuse to attack you, no heroic feats of any kind. Your job is to _assist_ only, not throw yourselves into the fire for someone. Just remember the people you help are there by their own mistakes, after everything’s said and done. Whatever happens is _not on you_.”

                There was a stunned silence when she finished, made heavier by severity of her voice by the end. Sarah blinked in surprise at her own cold vehemence. She was only trying to protect them, to make sure they’d be okay…but at what cost? Was she really willing to let a child die to keep her friends safe? _How am I any different from Mira?_ Flooded with such dismay, she only caught the tail end of the stare Brynn pointed her way. She was about to apologise, to say she hadn’t meant it that way, when he cleared his throat and all eyes fell on the Fae.

                “I respect those logical demands and acknowledge your desire to protect your friends,” he stated matter-of-factly, smoothing a tea towel into a neat square while he spoke. “However I must point out that I am under no such compulsion to preserve myself for your sake. I am your underling, not your companion, and I will not hesitate to make the decision I deem fit at the time. Regardless of its emotional impact on you, your Majesty.” At the last sentence he locked eyes with her and she understood. Now she didn’t have to take back her orders but the runners and wished away would be under Brynn’s dedicated protection.

                “I guess I have to respect that,” she answered with a feigned shrug. “We’re not friends; I have no right to prioritise your safety.”

                Brynn merely nodded as if she hadn’t just given him permission to die if necessary. It was unsettling, the ease with which he’d offered such a thing. He was still so… _other_ , so different from a human, too long estranged from emotion and consequence. She hurriedly drained the last of her coffee and stood. Jareth in a bad mood was preferable company in that moment; at least it meant he had a better relationship to his feelings. Which wasn’t exactly fair on Brynn, who was only trying to help her out – but that didn’t make his calm demeanour any less unsettling. He’d watched Mira die with much the same disinterest. “I’d better go see how Jareth’s doing,” she offered in answer to their questioning looks. She must have had the expression of someone spooked about her by the way they stared.  “He came back late from the funeral last night.”

                They responded in various tones of understanding, inclining heads respectfully as she passed. Sarah cringed at the formality. They’d better not start bowing to her at every word or she’d have something to say. Harsh ruler or not she was still just Sarah Williams, former librarian. It was reassuring to hear them burst into conversation before she’d even closed the door. In the hallway her deep breath was interrupted by Brynn calling her name. Nerves surged through her anew. Still, she couldn’t deny he’d done something pretty selfless for her.

                “Thank –”

                “You need to remember to think before you speak if you want to maintain your morality,” he interjected sharply, closing the door so that they were alone in the hall.

                She blinked. “Excuse me?”

                “You let your mouth get the better of you. Throwing out rules like that for your friends is all well and good but it backed you into a corner. A corner I had to pluck you out of.”

                If she was on edge before she was positively bristling now. “I’m sorry, did I _force_ you to speak up? I don’t remember making that big speech and then saying ‘but don’t worry, I don’t give a shit about Brynn here so he can take the risks for you’. You said what you said by your own volition. Don’t get pissy with me.”

                “You came off sounding heartless despite the reasoning behind it,” Brynn replied. His voice barely changed an octave but it hardened significantly. “And I know that’s not what you want. You want to be different from the Queen that Mira was. But I don’t have enough time or energy to coach your every move, Sarah. If you don’t want to lose your humanity in this position, then you have to learn to _think before you speak_.”

                Though she was fuming, skin prickling with indignation, the undercurrent of his words were undeniable. “Are you…are you mad at me because you’ve chosen to look out for my sense of morality?” she asked incredulously.

                “And I can see you’re going to make it a difficult task, if this is any indication of the future.”

                She stared at him wide eyed and tugged at her hair. “Brynn, you – you’re a Fae. You watch people die as if it’s boring and you talk about life like it’s a chess game. Are you really in any way an appropriate choice for a moral compass?” Her laugh was unexpected and bitter. “Besides, I never asked to be looked after that way. I can take care of my own conscience.”

                “And yet you just made it clear that you’d let runners – mostly children – die for the sake of keeping your companions safe. How would that have weighed on your mind if it came to pass?”

                No. She wouldn’t let him win that easily. “I’d feel like shit,” she responded earnestly. “But I’d live with it because it’d be my own fault. I’m allowed to make my own mistakes, Brynn. I’m still learning. You’ve got, what, a few centuries more experience than me? I’m happy for any advice you want to share but you can’t tell me off like I’m a little kid.”

                “Then I suggest you stop acting like one.” Harder than steel, that voice had become. And sharp as a knife.

_“Stop calling me precious. I’m not a little girl.”_

_His eyes flashed. “And yet you have yet to offer me a single gracious word, like the spoilt child you have always been.”_

                Had she really not learnt anything in the months since that argument with Jareth? _Of course I have_. _It’s easy to see just a girl when you’re more than two hundred years old. I have to stop giving them reasons to call me that._ She straightened her shoulders and gave him a stern glare. “Look, Brynn. The way I see it is this: you have no right to be angry with me when _you_ took it upon _yourself_ to get mixed up in my mess. You want to look out for my morality? Go right ahead. But don’t use caring as an excuse to have a go at me when I make a mistake. Find a better way to advise me or else you won’t ever be more than my ‘underling’.”

                His jacket couldn’t have been more neat, yet he focused on straightening and brushing it with precise attention. Probably so that when he spoke, he wouldn’t have to look at her. “I don’t require your friendship, if that’s what you’re suggesting. And _you_ require guidance, not another friend to hold your hand.”

                Taken aback by how much that stung, Sarah’s voice warbled. “Well then. Guess we’ve got that sorted out, haven’t we?” She crossed her arms to hide the trembling of her closed fists. “If it’s all the same to you, I _was_ on my way to see Jareth. I’ll see you at the next run, Mr Fel Vaden.”

                Without waiting for a response she left, keeping her pace slow but sure. He would _not_ see her storm off in a huff. He didn’t give a shit about being her friend, did he? After pledging allegiance in front of disapproving Fae royals and swearing loyalty and admitting he was worried about her soul and fetching Jareth for her when she was upset – none of that meant anything? He’d rather keep his distance so that he could snap at her and pick at the mistakes she made? Deep down she knew that wasn’t true; knew that they’d just gotten riled up. But she was too incensed to care for the time being. Halls and doors passed by in a blur as she traversed the Castle; creatures lurking in shadows were spared no second glance and gave nothing but muted chittering in return. Distantly she acknowledged how easily she’d become accustomed to their presence; how quickly she’d learnt to ignore them. But then a vision came and there was no thought for anything else:     

_The bar was one of his favourites, an old harlem-esque dark wooded affair with lots of smoke and weak lighting. Something bluesy and warm was being sung by a moustached man on the tiny stage. Nobody ever blinked at new arrivals in the doorway; they were too busy with whiskey and cigarettes. All in all, it was perfect for a couple of Fae hoping to blend in and get quietly, disastrously drunk._

_Brynn sniffed at the air as they took seats in the back; his expression was sceptical._

_“Don’t give me that look,” Jareth chided, cracking open their freshly acquired bottle of scotch. “This place is the genuine article.”_

_“It’s filthy,” Brynn replied, inspecting his glass. “I don’t see why we have to do this here. Alcohol is just as effective in the Do –”_

_“The Domain is a terrible pub,” Jareth interrupted pointedly. The man really had no clue about keeping a low profile. “And if I have to listen to one more drunken round of Hoggle’s goblin anthem I’m going to string him up like a flag over the Bog.” Raising their glasses, they toasted without words. To what was never necessary with them. “You can’t tell me you aren’t glad to be out of the Castle. This winter’s been driving you just as mad as it has me.”_

_“It **is** refreshing to have a change of scenery.” Brynn downed his first drink in one fell swoop and held the glass out for another. _

_“That’s the spirit. And I keep telling you, you need to be around the people you try to save on a daily basis.” Jareth finished his own just as quickly and poured them each another. They tended to get unobtrusively competitive when it came to drinking. “It helps you learn how they think.”_

_“There’s a fair difference between drunken revellers and human children.”_

_“Clearly you haven’t had too much experience with teenagers,” Jareth countered sardonically._

_“I will soon enough,” Brynn replied conspiratorially._

_“What’s that supposed to mean?”_

_The man rose a brow in silence._

_“Sarah told you, didn’t she?” he harrumphed. “She said I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone! That woman –”_

_“What Sarah allows us to do and what **she** can do are two different things.” Brynn smiled. As usual it gave the impression of a stone with teeth. One day the man would learn how to do it properly. “In any case, I believe congratulations are in order.”_

_“Thank you. But I suggest you keep it to yourself. We **were** intending on announcing it at the Harvest.” His own grin was almost painful in its intensity. _

_“Of course.”_

_“That being said, **my** teenager will be nothing like the humans I’ve seen.”_

_“You think the offspring of Sarah Williams and the stubborn Prince will be no trouble?”_

_“I am an optimist, comrade. I expect trouble but have faith in our ability to raise a fairly sensible creature.”_

_“You’re right.”_

_“I am?”_

_“You **are** an optimist.”_

So he wasn’t interested in being a friend, was he? Sarah scoffed as she resurfaced from the scene, dragging fingers through her hair while she walked. “You’re full of shit, Brynn,” she muttered. There was more to the vision than possible future friendships. Reaching the stairs to her quarters, she found herself daydreaming. Would her children have blonde hair or black? Would they have Fae markings and dabble in magic or wear scraped knees like badges to prove their humanity? She’d never even really contemplated the idea of having kids before. If it seemed a distant, idealistic path to her now, at least she knew they had plenty of years to decide on it. Still. Didn’t mean anything if she imagined a tiny blonde-haired girl with mismatched eyes and enough personality to fill the room.

Jareth was right where she’d left him, only he’d taken up a book and put away the scowl. Sunlight streamed in through the window and bathed him in the tender shades of spring. He was entranced by his reading, long legs stretched out in front with fingers curled tight around the pages of the old tome. If not happy, he at least seemed less tense. He didn’t look up, seemingly unaware of her, but he called quietly: “What are you smiling about?”

“I had a...” It was never a good idea to tell people their future. Surely. Even if it was just only possibilities. “A fight with Brynn,” she answered carefully. That got his attention. By the time he could appear suitably bothered she’d lifted his arms and climbed into his lap. She pressed back into his chest as he resettled his arms around her, the book resting on her knee. “What are you reading?”

“An old Elvish anthology – seems an odd thing to be smiling about; what did he do exactly?”

“Nothing unusual for Brynn. It doesn’t matter.”

“Are you sure?”

“Are you ready to talk about the funeral now?”

He groaned faintly in response and attempted to continue reading. She closed the book with a snap and plucked it from his grasp.

“It was awful, if you must know.” He spoke as if each word was being hauled from the depths of his heart, as if it were a physical labour to drag them out. He’d always been prone to dramatics. “Loathsome. The sort of tripe you’d expect at the funeral of a dead monarch. Now, if you’ll give me back –”

She slid the book to the other side of the window, beyond both their reaches. “What were you so pissed about?” she asked, matching his returned scowl with a look of determined defiance.

He didn’t seem likely to answer at first. When she turned her head to catch his profile, the spark of rage flickering anew in those eyes seemed beyond words. “They made Lina give a speech,” he hissed. “Nothing the woman had done mattered. She executed Lina’s lover, sent her away to the desert, destroyed our lives, tried to kill you…and every single person in that room knew it. Lina had to stand there and lament. Nobody acknowledged that it was a complete farce.”

The muscles in his neck and jaw were rigid with anger; they only softened slightly when she turned and pressed her face into him. “I’m sorry,” she murmured against his throat. “That’s not fair. Poor Lina.”

“They made a joke of her,” he growled. “She’s to be their Queen in a few weeks and they put her on display like a chastised child. It makes me worry how that cursed Council will treat her after the coronation.”

She let him simmer for a few moments, feeling his rapid pulse beneath her lips. There was no point in talking when he was so worked up. Eventually he calmed, or at least softened his anger into something more malleable. “Would you like to hear what I think?” she asked quietly.

“Always,” he replied.

“You’re really sweet to worry about her the way you do. But I think, a lot of the time, it’s unnecessary.”

“I –”

“Just listen for a minute, Jareth.” She kept her tone gentle but firm, somewhere between insistent and placating. “Lina had to have known she’d be the centre of attention at that ceremony. She’s heir to the Throne. Right?”

“Mhmm…”

“Right. So, bearing in mind that of _course_ she wouldn’t want to go, and of _course_ most people could guess how she feels about Mira…don’t you think she did the responsible thing? Your people put a lot of stock in custom and tradition, the way I see it. So even though everybody knew the stuff that’s happened in the royal family, they saw her put aside emotion and perform her duties as daughter and heir, for propriety’s sake. Don’t you think they might’ve been just a _little_ impressed by that?”

Jareth was silent. She ploughed on.

“I keep telling you Lina’s tough. You’ve seen how she handles the Council. In fact, I’m sure that sooner or later she’ll give them a piece of her mind about the speech.”

To her surprise, he suddenly wore a smirk.

“What?” she queried.

“Lina engaged in a very lengthy, rather aggressive discussion with the Council after the funeral. I was waiting to see her home; that’s why I returned so late last night.”

 “See? I’m pretty clever.”

“That you are.” He sighed against her cheek. “I think perhaps I let my protectiveness blind me.”

She kissed his jaw. “You’re just a big brother looking out for his sister, that’s all. But, a word to the wise, this whole ‘looking out for the women’ thing has the potential to be insulting if you let it go too far.”

He hummed at her touch, fingers thrumming a rhythm along her waist. “Believe me, that is never my intention, Sarah.”

“I know.” She dipped her head back into the crook of his neck, eyes closed. “Just…maybe in the future, try not to let our lives get you so tied up in knots? We can look after ourselves pretty well.”

 “Says the woman who bargained away her freedom to spare her brother.”

“Hey, I never said I followed my own advice. Just that _you_ should.”

“Let’s both agree to ease off from this need to protect everybody, yes?”

“Deal.” Could he tell that she was already breaking the pact? Soothing Jareth’s hurts was a great distraction from handling her own qualms. And she had to acknowledge her growing addiction to the feeling of cheering him up. The moment when his rigid biting features slackened because of something she did or said was just a little intoxicating. Was that in itself egotistical? No. It was borne of love. She couldn’t stand seeing him upset.

“Where have you gone, love?” Jareth murmured into her ear.

“Hmm?”

“You’re far away.”

                She’d been overthinking, as usual. It was exhausting sometimes, caring _so_ much. “Did…did they tell everyone how Mira really died?”

                “The Council decided it was best to keep the details to a minimum,” he replied. “With you yet to be announced the new Goblin Queen, I doubt it would have been safe to declare your involvement in her death. The public won’t know.”

                “Oh.” She exhaled hard. “Well, good.” Her hands shook just a little with relief.  “God…do you ever feel like you’re just waiting for the other shoe to drop? That whatever you do, whatever you achieve or defeat or justify, there’s always going to be something else coming around the corner ready to attack?”

                “Yes,” he answered slowly, “But then again I’m well practiced in living with it. Decades of waiting for the next wish to come will hone your anxiety into a razor’s edge.”

                “And what happens then?” she asked quietly.

                “You find yourself cutting out parts of you that interfere with tasks. Hope. Imagination. Patience.”

                If he hadn’t sounded so serious she might’ve snorted at the drama of it. It didn’t seem so funny now. Jareth’s life had been really miserable the last hundred years or so. “I won’t lose myself,” she promised him. “I have plenty of people and things to distract me between wishes.”

                “That, and you’re far too stubborn to let a job change you.”

                “Exactly.” She was growing content in his arms, thoughts fading to background noise and thinking it wouldn’t be a bad way to spend the day when it was, of course, interrupted.

                “Aren’t you two ready yet? I thought you’d be jumping with eagerness by now, Sarah.”

                Lina’s melodic voice held a tinge of impatience, as did her expression. Startled, Sarah offered a wary smile after her confused frown. Jareth didn’t move but his hands tightened on her just a little. A strange reaction to have to his sister. “Ready for what?” Sarah asked curiously.

                Lina shot Jareth an almost exasperated look, stretching out a foot to kick his boot. “How long did you think you could delay this by just not telling her?”

                Rolling his eyes, Jareth finally acknowledged her presence. “A few hours more, at least. I didn’t expect you to be on time. It’s very unlike you.”

                “I’m punctual because Sarah’s relying on it,” she answered with very pointed emphasis. She gave his boot another kick.

                “What am I relying on?” Sarah interjected before Jareth could even open his mouth. She’d felt him tensing behind her. If she let them go on she’d never get an answer. “What was I meant to be ready for?”

                “We’ve arranged for you to see Malibar,” Lina told her in much kinder tones than she’d used for Jareth. “I thought my fool brother would have mentioned it by now.”

                “Well he didn’t.” Sarah wriggled free of Jareth, smacked his arm and got to her feet all at once. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, indeed. He was the one to drop it! She planted her hands on her hips. “Why didn’t you?”

                “Just attempting to delay the inevitable,” he replied smoothly, which wasn’t exactly a real answer. Rising, he picked at a loose thread as if that were his only reason for frowning. An immaculately embroidered black coat hung off the back of a nearby chair; he gathered it up and tugged it on casually. “Shall we go then? If you’re both done beating and berating me?”

                “You’re not getting away with sass here, Jareth. Why don’t you want to see Malibar? And don’t tell me it’s just because he’s disappointed in you.”

                Glancing at Lina, she received an amused nod of approval. Jareth’s composure remained steadily intact. “I don’t give a damn about his opinion of me,” he said. “I’m just concerned that the weight of his substantial years might have addled his wits. I don’t want you to get your hopes up in case he’s no help to us.”

                “I’m certain that won’t be the case,” said Lina, moving to stand beside Sarah.

                “Oh are you?” Jareth quirked a cynical brow. “So you’ve been to see him in advance, sister of mine?”

                “I’ve spoken with the people who worked with him before he retired,” she answered sharply.

                “Ah. Not exactly the same thing then, is it? Talking to people he knew three centuries ago and talking to someone his age in person?” Jareth turned to Sarah. “What do you suppose the knowledge of over four thousand years does to a person, love?”

                “Four thousand -!” Sarah choked back her surprise. This wasn’t the time to be distracted. “We’re going to see him. I don’t care what state he’s in. We’ll find out soon enough.” She looked to Lina. “I guess you’re taking us there?”

                “Strictly speaking I’m too busy to be doing this,” the Fae answered conspiratorially. “But what the Council won’t know won’t hurt them. I didn’t want to send just anyone to take you.”

                “I appreciate it,” Sarah said earnestly, tidying her ruffled hair and clothes. “Am I presentable enough to meet a four-thousand-year-old Fae?”

                Lina was polite about it. Sarah knew that her pants and shirt were crinkled and mismatched. To the woman’s request that she might make a few changes, Sarah nodded. A familiar tickling rushed over her, but where Jareth’s magic had kissed her like sin Lina’s felt like the honest warmth of sunshine. She wore a fitted blouse that gave a glimpse of Jareth’s pendant around her neck, and layered skirts the colour of midnight. Studying her new attire, Sarah grinned. It was not unfamiliar of the style Lina often chose, and Sarah felt the stirrings of sisterly affection meeting the woman’s approving smile.

                “A little better,” Lina said, “Not too formal but less – well – _human_. If Malibar’s in a bad state of mind, we don’t want to shock him with the sight of you.” Her grin was sudden and mischievous. “We’ll let the subject of your enquiries do that.”

                “Perhaps he’ll die of indignation before he can babble on too much,” Jareth grumbled.

                This wasn’t like him. Sarah opened her mouth to ask just what his problem was when Lina took her arm. “No time to waste then,” she declared, succinctly joining the three of them. “I can’t be away too long or someone will notice.”

                The air was sucked from her lungs, the ground tugged out from beneath her feet, and they were whirled away into familiar blackness.

 

* * *

 

 

_“There’s got to be a way,” he growled, teeth bared like some cornered wolf. “Stop telling me there isn’t a way.”_

_“There’s **no** magic for sort of thing!” his teacher snapped more insistently. “How many times must I tell you? Stop being such a sentimental, loose-witted –”_

_“ **No**!” he raged, knocking the old man to the floor. Magic kept him there with uncontrolled force. “I am not leaving this house until you bring her to me! I am **so sick** of having things ripped out of my hands – the ground I walk is bathed in blood, the air I breathe is putrid – you will **bring her to me**. I will win this time. You. Will. Bring. Her. To. Me.” _

_Malibar didn’t answer. His eyes were bulging, face purple with the strain of trying to free himself of the weave. Blood trickled from his nose. He was choking with the weight of it._

_Jareth blinked, coming back to himself, and felt his blood run cold. With a gasp he released the man and stood back. “I…I –”_

_“Get out,” Malibar breathed, clutching his chest in pain. He didn’t have to say it again._

_Jareth got the hell out._

                He had to tell her. It was coming back to him in waves of vivid, sickly colour: the madness, the threats, the look in the man’s eyes when he’d started to fear for his life. She’d be ashamed of him…and quite right too. He wouldn’t ask to be forgiven. He didn’t deserve it. But then…if they could all be spared the scene, if Malibar didn’t even remember what happened…it wasn’t strictly necessary that they find out what had happened. It certainly wouldn’t _help_ anything. Jareth fought the dizziness that came with travelling through a gateway. It took him a moment to stop swaying. These weren’t the kind of things you should really contemplate when being transported.

                Sarah was looking at him. She didn’t ask if he was okay – still a bit mad then, fair enough – but her eyes held a flicker of concern. He squeezed her hand before letting it drop along with Lina’s.

                “Pretty,” Sarah acknowledged with approval, making him notice their destination.

                The forest was thickly wooded with trees black as ink and long grasses the colour of jade. The air was still as a breath being held, the grass rippling only under the guidance of some forgotten magic. If that didn’t tell him where they were, Lina’s careful steps certainly did.

                “You could have warned me, Lina,” he called to her, flinging out a hand to keep Sarah in place before she could follow.

                “Warned you about what?” she asked.

                “I know where we’re going,” Lina replied offhandedly, brushing a trunk with the tips of her fingers. “I thought Sarah might like to take the scenic route.” 

                “Where are we?” Sarah asked.

                “How could you have been sure where to take us?” he persisted testily. “We could have fallen to our deaths.”

                “I was given exact directions,” Lina assured him patiently. “Stop fretting so much and answer the poor woman’s questions. I hope he doesn’t ignore you like that often, Sarah.”

                “I don’t usually let him,” she replied.

Her look was one of definite impatience though. He offered no resistance as she batted away his protective arm. Still, there was nothing wrong with following right behind her. “Don’t step ahead of Lina,” he warned.

                Though the trees showed no sign of thinning out, light poured in on them thickly from the west. The closer they got, the brighter everything became, until at last Jareth couldn’t stop himself from catching hold of Sarah’s arm. “Slowly,” he murmured without taking his eyes from the tree line. They all stepped forward as one and shivered against the sudden wind that hit them. The forest disappeared without warning on the edge of a great waterfall. It stretched for miles in both directions along the lip of a canyon shaped like a tear. The other side was beyond sight, even with the sunlight and crisp sky no longer competing with the trees. This was not what made it remarkable or deadly in and of itself.

                “There’s no sound,” Sarah pointed out questioningly. “The waterfall, the wind…I can’t hear any of it.”

                “We call it the Silent Drop,” Jareth replied, more interested in her stark wonder than the sight itself. Those wide eyes and parted lips were a distraction from his growing anxiousness. “There’s a magic here so ancient that it’s part of the land itself. No one has ever heard a sound here. But do you see why I exercise caution? The abyss below would swallow you in a heartbeat if you didn’t know to look out for it.”

                “How far down does it go?” Sarah asked, gripping his arm while she strained to see into the dark.

                “Nobody’s ever survived to give notes,” he replied grimly.

                “Oh don’t ruin it,” Lina chastised. “It’s too beautiful to be afraid of.” She had her feet planted squarely on the rocky edge, leaning back against a trunk. Her hair was a billowing mess, skirts rippling like waves as she grinned into the wind.

                “I thought that about Sarah once,” Jareth remarked dryly. “Thankfully that was a mistake I had the chance to learn from.” He looked down at her, lowering his voice. “I don’t suppose you’re going to count this little moment on my ‘save the women’ record?”

                Her smile was fleeting. “No, this is definitely something you were right to be cautious about.” She went back to studying the abyss. The silence of the place lent an eerie touch to her pensive expression. Before he could ask what bothered her, Lina spoke up.

“Malibar lives just over there,” she pointed a few miles along the lip of the falls. The side of a stone structure poked out from the trees, too far to make out details. “Seems an appropriate place for a historian to retire, don’t you think? Living on the edge of a mystery yet to be solved?”

It was typical for a recluse retiree, perhaps trying to avoid an old pupil.

Lina slipped back into the forest with far too much ease for the danger a wrong step could bring. “I’ll take us the rest of the way,” she called from the trees. “I don’t have much time left.”

Sarah made to join her but Jareth squeezed her arm. “Wait,” he bit out, a rush of trepidation making him itch. He had to tell her. Or at least warn her that she might learn things about him he wasn’t proud of. She stared at him with the expectant look of someone about to have their questions answered at last.

“Are you going to tell me the truth about you and Malibar?” she asked quietly.

“I just think you should know, before we go in…there’s a good chance he will claim certain events took place…”

“That’s the sound of someone covering their ass if ever I heard it. What the hell happened, Jareth?”

Casting a wary glance in Lina’s direction, Jareth lowered his voice. “I was out of my mind,” he said urgently. “I wish that was a good enough excuse but I know better. Things were…unpleasant for me after you beat my Labyrinth. I took it out on Malibar because I thought he could do something about it but wouldn’t. I had no one else. I just want you to understand how ashamed I am, and how deeply I’ve regretted it.”

He felt like a worm on a hook under the force of her stare. It was an effort not to writhe. “How did you ‘take it out’ on him?” she asked slowly. “I don’t –”

                “Quickly now,” Lina called, popping her head back through the trees. “The quicker we get there the more time you’ll have with him.”

                Sarah was looking at his fingers still wrapped around her arm. He let go of her uncertainly. “Tell me about it later,” she told him quietly before heading over to Lina.

                Jareth sighed. It was the right thing to do, even if she hated him for a little while. Or a long while. Lina gave him a questioning look over Sarah’s tense shoulder when he joined them, but said nothing. Steeling himself for the dizziness, he joined their circle and closed his eyes against the tide of colours streaking through the black. _I’m not broken, love._ Maybe one day that would ring perfectly true. One day.

 

* * *

 

 

Her life had become one never-ending balancing act. She could have joined the circus with the talent she was cultivating. _Come and witness the jaw-dropping feats of Sarah Williams the Goblin Queen, able to walk blindfolded across a tight rope whilst juggling a thousand emotional crises at once._ She was a little amused by the thought – which then had her worrying that she was going crazy. Sane people didn’t laugh at all the shit that got thrown at them, did they? There wasn’t much time for thought after they were whirled away, which suited her just fine. Like she really wanted to spend another second thinking about just what the hell else Jareth had to confess to. Didn’t he have enough skeletons in the closet?

                The place they arrived at was an impressive and welcome distraction. “Okay. Wow.” She was aware that she was probably gaping. It was difficult to pick out where the forest ended and the house began. The trees thickened noticeably foot by foot until they seemed to meld with solid stone, forming the walls of a three-story home. The windows were just squares cut into the stone, the only door another archway with vines hanging thick as curtains. Creepers sprouting flowers dark as blood covered most of the stone. Walking around to the side, Sarah could see two very impressive things: firstly, that the house sat right on the edge of the waterfall, and secondly there seemed to be no wall to the side that faced the canyon, only a stone outcrop. The entire inside of the place was exposed to the canyon. Forcing down a sudden onset of vertigo, Sarah joined Jareth while Lina went to the door.

                She didn’t knock or call out, just placed her hand against the stone. It must have done something because a few seconds later a hand swept aside the curtain and a woman stepped out. She moved like all Fae did, with grace and poise and little expression, carved with willowy features. The noiseless wind, finding no purchase in her surprisingly close-cropped hair, picked at her lace dress with heavy fingers. She didn’t seem to notice, greeting them with a reverential curtsy. Or least greeted _Lina_ , kissing her hand and murmuring welcome. Jareth and Sarah she considered with the look of someone who’d lifted a mat and found spiders underneath. She seemed to be sizing up what shoe would be needed to take care of them. Sarah would have been more annoyed by it had she not just noticed the thick scar that smothered the left side of the woman’s face. It drowned her petite features, obliterating Fae markings and freckles as it stretched along her throat. Sarah wondered what had happened to her that couldn’t be healed by magic.

                When she spoke her voice held faint traces of a hoarse strain. “Ma’am, your letter didn’t mention that you would be accompanied.”

                Lina appeared completely unfazed. “I must apologise for the lack of notice, Idris,” she replied with all the aplomb of a soon-to-be Queen. “I do have my own need for speaking with him but I’m being called away by duties. Since my companion over there has her own questions, I thought I would let her have my appointment. I hope that’s all right. We think Malibar is the only one with the right knowledge for what we seek.”

                  Sarah did her best to look non-threatening, nothing at all like a spider, but it was difficult under the glare she and Jareth were receiving.

                “What questions?” Idris asked bluntly.

                “That’s for her to say,” Lina replied patiently. “But they _are_ quite urgent, as are my own duties. Forgive me but I will have to say my thanks and leave them with you for the time being.” She took on a speedier tone, turning away from Idris, who’d opened her mouth to protest. “I’ll return for you both in an hour,” she told them. Then, in a lower voice: “Don’t offend anyone. We need him.”

                Before any of them could utter a word she was gone. Their host’s gaze took on an unfiltered strain now that the heir had left them. She looked straight at Jareth, chin raised and arms folded at her chest. “He has nothing to say to you.”

                Jareth retained a calm demeanour, though a hint of colour crept into his cheeks. “I didn’t expect him to. Sarah here, on the other hand, needs at least a few words.”

                Idris’ scar pulled her mouth into a frown despite the clear surprise in her grey eyes. She studied Sarah as though having worked out a puzzle. “That’s her, isn’t it?” she demanded. “The human you disgraced yourself over and –”

                “They actually call me her Majesty these days,” Sarah cut in before Jareth lost his temper. He was stiff as a post beside her; she rested a hand in the crook of his elbow. “My name is Sarah Williams. I’m the Goblin Queen.” She thrust out a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

                She took Sarah’s hand almost without thought for it, pressing chilled fingers against hers only momentarily. “So it’s true then,” she murmured, losing interest in Jareth. “A human has taken the Labyrinth Throne.”

                “How did you hear about that?” Sarah asked, nonplussed. Had word spread so quickly already?

                “Missives from the Palace were sent throughout the Domain. Everyone knows her Majesty Mira El’Maven is dead and that the princess’ coronation will happen shortly.” It was unnerving being the sole recipient of that sharp gaze. “There was also brief mention of changes to the Labyrinth Throne. No details of course but it set tongues wagging. And it seems they’ve guessed correctly.”

                What other things had been guessed? What rumours were floating around the Domain about her and what she’d done? “Look, I’m not here to cause trouble, I promise. I just want to talk to Malibar. Please. I’ve got a lot of questions to ask. Things I _need_ to know.”

                Idris opened her mouth – to argue, no doubt – but a voice from within cut her off.

                “Idris, what’s taking you so long? Let her in –”

                Sarah had never really thought about what a truly _old_ Fae might look like, but Malibar left no room for imagination. He stumbled through the vines like debris swept out with the tide, momentum carrying him forward though he seemed frozen in shock. His dark trousers and shirtsleeves would have been a tight fit on Jareth; they sagged on Malibar like a poorly made scarecrow. Every part of him stuck out sharply: hipbones, shoulders, knuckles, cheekbones, nose…his baldness gave him the look of a monk. Staring at him, Sarah was reminded of a very sharp stick she’d put her foot through as a kid. He leant hard on a cane and looked in danger of snapping in half with a good push, yet Sarah thought this was another stick she’d be stupid to step on. There was an ancient strength in those murky eyes, a cold intelligence so long-harboured it had the potential to be dangerous in its fermentation.

                Malibar squinted at Jareth, bony hands wrapping around the head of his walking stick. When he spoke again, it was in a voice every bit as cold and well-honed as his wits. “Which are you? Jaster or Mira?”

                Apparently his eyesight was the only thing failing him.

                Jareth tensed at the question, as did Idris. “Neither,” he answered sharply, then less certainly: “Both. It’s me…Jareth.”

                Sarah didn’t expect him to move so quickly. One minute the old Fae was peering into Jareth’s face with difficulty, the next he’d disappeared behind the curtain in total silence.

                “You shouldn’t have come here,” Idris snapped. “He’ll injure himself running from you.”

                “He doesn’t need to run from us,” Sarah replied smoothly, moving closer to the curtain. “Did you hear me, Malibar sir? We’re not going to hurt you. I just have some questions.”

                “She needs to speak with him,” Jareth hissed at Idris. “His anger with me has nothing to do with Sarah.”

                “Sarah?” All three of them turned toward the voice behind the curtain. “That was the name of the girl,” said Malibar.

                “Yes,” Jareth sighed, glancing at Sarah from the corner of his eye. “She’s the same woman.”

                The same woman as what? Did Malibar know she’d run the Labyrinth as a teenager? “Yes, my name is Sarah Williams,” she called to the curtain. “I’m not sure if you saw me just now but I’m – I’m human. And because of some…things that happened I also might be, slightly, well…immortal.” Idris’ hard expression was needling at her again. She ignored it and went on. “I have a problem, sir. I don’t know what transference from Jareth might have done to me. And it’s pretty important that I find out because I’m also the new Goblin Queen and a lot of people are counting on my sticking around for a long while. So I’m sorry to spring Jareth on you like this, he’s not even really here for anything but moral support. He can stay out here if you like. I just…I just need your help. Please.”

                The cane worked its way out from behind the curtain of vines. Feeling his way more slowly, Malibar edged out into the open. He peered at Sarah with difficulty. The faded markings around his eyes gave him a severe expression. Sarah did her best to keep still so he could make out her face, even offering a careful smile.

                “How did he do it?” the old Fae demanded softly.

                Sarah blinked. “Do what?”

                “Do what, she says, do what…” he grumbled. “How did he break you?” he snapped. “How did he bring you here, to the Dream Reality, though you’d chosen to return Above?”

                Her skin crawled with the intensity of Jareth’s staring over her shoulder. Shaking her head both relieved the feeling and showed her confusion. “He didn’t do anything,” she told Malibar. “My brother made a wish and I took his place. I’ve been here for my own reasons and now I’m staying for my own reasons.”

                Malibar laughed in her face. It wasn’t kind, rather a bark of bitter amusement that made her jump. “So you don’t know then, do you, girl? The little prince didn’t tell you anything. How typical. He is a hoarder of information, that one.”

                Her patience was slipping. Every second they spent on this secret was time taken from the answers she needed. She was about to turn on Jareth and demand the truth when he beat her to the chase, catching her arm gently.

                “I wanted to keep you.”

                She would have thought he’d just misspoken but for the fear and urgency in his expression. “What?”

                “I’d been…losing myself,” he muttered, clearly making the effort not to shy away from her stare. “My Kingdom was a mire of filth. It was hard not to get bogged in self-pity every other year. You…you were a challenge I hadn’t had in a long time. You were sincere and overconfident and stubborn. I thought that keeping you would save my sanity, no matter the way it was done.” His fingers slid down her arm to grip her fingers, hesitantly, as if afraid she might recoil. For the moment all Sarah could do was listen. “There is no magic to make a person love against their will, but I wanted you to. I hurt Malibar because he couldn’t help me bring you to me.” With a squeeze of her hand his posture stiffened, tossing the hair from his eyes like some defiant king of old. There was no fear in him now. “It was a lapse in judgement that lasted only a few hours, and I am ashamed to the core of my being for it, but I make no excuses. What’s done is done, and you know that I’m not that person anymore.”

She was aware that she probably should have felt disgusted, embarrassed by him, angry, afraid…to her own surprise, Sarah found that she really didn’t feel any of those things. People had crazy thoughts when pushed to their limits. Jareth’s life so far definitely granted him a few days of insanity. Her own frantic wishes had nearly cost her a brother, after all. She could understand his reluctance to tell her that he’d wanted to trap her like a bird. The fact that he hadn’t ever done it spoke for itself. No, his mother had been the one to force Sarah back into the Goblin Castle against her will. Jareth wasn’t the bad guy. Despite the pointed lack of fear on his face, something eased in him when she gripped both of his hands. “I get it,” she told him earnestly. “And no, you’re not that person anymore. You never were to begin with.” That was definite relief on his face now. So much for not afraid. “But I can’t forgive you for whatever you did to Malibar…it’s up to him to work that out with you.”

                He looked like he _really_ wanted to kiss her, but was taking great efforts to restrain himself. “Thank you,” he murmured instead.        

                The old Fae had been reticent throughout the exchange between them. He received Jareth’s patient attention with further silence, studying his old pupil like a bird of prey. Sarah thought of judges behind benches, weighing and measuring and ready to punish. Sharp chin raised up, Malibar folded bony hands over the top of his cane. “I will have the two cuts,” he said bluntly.

                Sarah didn’t know what that meant but the Fae seemed to. Idris’ mouth opened and then snapped shut, a disapproving scowl narrowing her features. Jareth nodded unflinchingly. He started to shrug off his coat when Malibar’s cane whipped up and tapped his hand, stilling the movement.

                “No,” the old Fae said. “On your face. I want you to see them when you look in the mirror. I want you to remember your shame. See that you do not lose yourself ever again.”

                If this bothered Jareth, whatever it meant, he didn’t let it show. His resolved hardened; he resettled his coat and moved to stand before Malibar with his chin held high.

The historian raised a hand. “You spilt my blood and sought unseemly magic.” A finger-length blade had suddenly appeared in his grip. Before Sarah could do anything, he slashed it down Jareth’s face. None of the Fae moved, except the hand Idris flung out to stop Sarah from rushing forward. Magic kept her in place though she demanded angrily to know what the hell was going on.

“I acknowledge and regret,” Jareth bit out, fists bunched tightly. Malibar made another quick slash and apparently the deed was done.

“What the fuck?” Sarah growled, finding herself released from the invisible hold. “What did you do to him?” She grabbed Jareth’s arm and inspected his face but there was no blood. Two scars ran down his right brow, interrupting the graceful markings she’d always liked. A few inches long and only thin, they looked as if they’d been there for years.

“He wanted my forgiveness,” said Malibar coldly. “I have given him only what he deserves. That is the end of it.”

“Two cuts,” Jareth murmured to her while she gingerly touched the scars. “One for the act committed, one to show your regret. Are you surprised we settle matters any other way?”

“Not really,” she admitted quietly. “Just seems unfair that you have to see it every day when you’re clearly sorry.”

He shrugged. “The scars inside us are much harder to bear.”

“You bothered me for a reason, I believe, Sarah Williams,” Malibar interrupted. “Do you expect so much of my time that you are happy to waste it out here on my doorstep?”

Of course it was too much to ask that she might have a minute to process things with Jareth. Giving him a look that plainly said they’d have to talk about it later, she addressed the old Fae with reserved politeness. She’d almost pitied him before their little act of forgiveness. Now she wasn’t sure what to make of him, even if it was an accepted Fae custom. Anyone who could scar another person without blinking warranted careful attention. “Actually, I don’t have a lot of time before our escort comes back to collect us. Would you mind if we get started?” There. Polite enough, without actually apologising. Her gaze flicked over to Jareth and she wet her lips nervously. How would she get him to stay out of the conversation?

                Studying her – _bird of prey, a judge, an examiner –_ Malibar nodded. “We will talk alone, I think.” His words stopped Jareth’s foot before it could move another inch. “Your situation sounds a private one to me.” His voice softened, if only just. “Idris, would you take Jareth to my garden?” The woman complied with a light nod for the historian and a sour look for Jareth.

                They separated and Sarah followed Malibar inside.

His home made the library seem like a naïve attempt at book collection. Every surface was crammed with books and scrolls, maps and drawings and artefacts. Papers labelled by volume lined a spiral staircase etched out of stone that made its way through the middle of the house. Everything was swathed in information, drowning in fact and history and description. She’d been right before: the west-facing wall was totally exposed to the elements, flooding the rooms with light and wind. Strangely enough, nothing fluttered or blew away. She felt the kiss of rushing air and the spray of water every now and then, yet nothing in the house was affected.

Uncertain how to begin, she watched Malibar approach a heavy stone table set in the far corner by the open wall. It was piled high with books and writing instruments but he ignored these, flicking a wrist and snapping his fingers. She was curious but not overly surprised by the great hollow space that suddenly opened up in the middle of the table. From its depths Malibar plucked out a handful of very old, very fragile looking tomes. He placed them to side, replaced the surface of the table and conjured a petite round magnifying glass. Several of the books now floated open in the air around him; he peered at them through the glass without once acknowledging Sarah.

“I am not surprised easily,” he said from behind the books. Pages flicked and turned; he seemed to be able to read them all at once. “But I will admit it an unusual happenstance to hear a human use the word transference. It is a term only the most highly intellectual of us would recall. If I didn’t know that I’d taught it to the prince myself, I’d have thought I’d misheard you.”

Sarah was flooded with nervous energy. Here she was, about to find some kind of answer about the future, and now she wasn’t sure if it was a good idea. Never mind the things she didn’t want Jareth to know; what if _she_ learned that one of those visions was true? What if it was the one where Lina died, or their children died, or he was a mortal condemned to life without her, or he was sent back to the Above and trapped there forever? Was that knowledge she could handle?

                “You want to keep something from the prince. What is it?”

                The blunt assuredness of the question took her by surprise. “H-how did you know?”

                “I’m very old.” He peered at her over the edge of a book. “And not mistaken?”

                “Well…no.”

                He crooked a finger for her to join him at the table. Obliging, Sarah wet her dry lips and tried to stay calm. She needed answers. She needed to know if Lina was going to do something stupid. Her own conscience could damn well deal with it; Jareth could not lose his sister. The books were written in Fae language; she gave up trying to decipher them as they floated around her head. “Do they say anything about transference?”

                “They say _everything_ about it,” the old Fae replied. “These are the accounts of its development since the Birth of All Things in the Domain. In the first century it was discovered by a mother hoping to prolong the life of her sick son. She didn’t know what she’d done, of course, so it took a few more decades of study to recreate the process. But it had to be monitored for the sake of self-preservation. A just cause had to be supplied before any were deemed worthy of receiving another’s years.” He seemed to linger on her a moment too long, perhaps trying to make a point.

                “You don’t think saving another person’s life is enough reason?” Sarah asked contritely, unable to stop herself.

                He waved a hand and the books rearranged themselves. He flicked back and forth between them all. “A grain of sand on a beach seems inconsequential, and yet without each grain there would be no beach. You make of that what you will. I myself did not invite you in to discuss morality. Tell me how it came about that the little prince gave his years to a human.”

                How was she meant to sum up the last few tumultuous months of her life? “Jareth was sentenced to death because of me. He had to hand over his title as Goblin King to –”

                “I don’t need the politics,” Malibar interrupted impatiently. “I need the facts. Were you injured? Close to death? What happened to him afterwards?”

                She’d had a lot of time to get used to Fae insensitivity. It should have been difficult to talk about the experience, about the sacrifices of that day and the chaos afterwards. But she was so close to finding answers now that the information poured out of her. “I took a dagger through the spine. It went right through my abdomen and broke out the other side. I was pretty obviously dying. Jareth took the dagger, cut open his hand and pressed it against me. Then he told me to live his years, to take them all, and I remember him falling asleep on me. When I woke up he’d been sent to the Above by his mother. He’s mortal now.”

                Malibar didn’t even blink at the story. He barely seemed to be listening, searching fervently through the pages of a crumbling old book. The magnifying glass illuminated keenness in his cloudy eyes. “And you?” he asked distractedly. “Have you tested yourself?”

                She wished he would look at her. At least feign interest. The biggest events of her life seemed quite small to a four-thousand-year-old Fae. “For what?”

                “Longevity. The ability to self-heal. Increased protection from physical injury.”

                “I haven’t thrown myself off a cliff out of curiosity, if that’s what you mean.”

                His severe face suddenly appeared over the rim of the book, a strangely eager expression giving him an eerie look. “Perhaps you should try that,” he said in a voice touched by something unhinged. “We might learn more from practice than theory.”

                “I hope you’re joking,” Sarah snapped.

                He didn’t seem to have heard. “No no no, foolish suggestion, never practice over theory you _know_ that…” he mumbled to himself in rapid bursts, focus returning to the books. Sarah tried not to let it bother her. Living for that long, you were bound to have a few screws loose. “Ah. Here.” He jabbed a gnarled finger into a page and beckoned her to come forward. “This is the only official record of transference between two species. It happened in the third century, between a Fae and one of the Kiri.”

                Again the pages meant nothing to her, written in a language she couldn’t grasp. “Is a Kiri like a human?”

                “Human enough for it be helpful,” Malibar replied. “They have the same tendency to die after less than a century.” He slid a finger along the paper, reading and processing and connecting theories. She could see the cogs spinning beneath that wrinkled forehead. “But this one… he lived for nearly seven hundred years.” He frowned, which shouldn’t have bothered her because he did that a lot. But this frown was noticeably grim. The cogs whirled. The cloudy eyes hid ideas.

                “What?” She vainly tried to read the text, palms sweating. “Did something happen to him?”

                Malibar waved the book away, adjusting the magnifying glass so that he could peer into her face. “You are hiding something from the prince,” he said. “What is it?”

                “What happened to the Kiri?” she demanded again.

                “He saw things,” the old Fae said shortly. “He lost his mind after two centuries.”

                Sarah shivered. She didn’t want to give voice to her panic, but… “Is that what’s going to happen to me?”

                “Do you see things?”

                This was it. The answers she needed. The help she’d been seeking for days. “Yes,” she bit out.

                Malibar gestured at two stone stools that hadn’t been there before. He took a seat on one and waited for her to take the other. “Tell me about them.”

                Sarah took a breath and began. “I keep having these – these memories that aren’t memories. They’re from Jareth’s perspective and it’s always in some kind of future.” She hugged herself tightly. Possibly immortal and going mad with thoughts of Jareth’s potential heartaches and triumphs…the silent wind from the west felt cool enough to chill the bone. “Some of them are horrific, some of them are so normal they’re almost boring…but I always feel them the way Jareth would. They’re too real to be dreams. I don’t want him to know because sometimes I see things that scare me. Things I don’t want to happen to him. I’m afraid that telling him will make them true.”

                “How often do they occur?”

                Sarah shrugged. “I’m not sure. A few times a day. When I sleep. When I’m in the middle of a sentence. They just come and go.”

                “Hmm.”

                “Is that what the Kiri went through?”

                “In the beginning. But they quickly became the feverish nightmares of a madman.” He waved a hand and each of the books he’d been studying piled themselves neatly in a stack on the table. He rested a hand atop the pile and closed his eyes. The cogs were spinning again. Sarah sat huddled in on herself and desperately tried not to think about spending five hundred years totally insane. _You can fix this. You have to. You have to stop Lina._ After a while, Malibar spoke up. His voice was full of thought and reason, weighing and measuring information as he spoke. “Not just any Fae can be put on the Labyrinth Throne,” he said. “We have to be tested for our ability to weave and display people’s dreams. It is a way to tempt and challenge the runners in order to determine their true worth. We all have varying capabilities. But for Jareth, even when he was merely my pupil…it was a specialty of his.”

                “Why does that not surprise me?” she muttered. _I ask for so little. Just let me rule you, and you can have **everything** that you want._ Ball gowns and masks and the love of a brooding dusk-eyed King. “What’s that got to do with –”

                “Dreams aren’t reality, Sarah Williams. They are possibilities. They are our potential futures and fates. What you describe is _Jareth’s_ potential future.”

                “So I’m seeing his dreams?”

                “It is more than that. He did not just bestow upon you his longevity. He gave you the potentiality of all of his combined years. Do you know what a Fae experiences in one lifetime?”

                “I’m guessing a lot.”

                “And you would be correct. Your visions suggest he may have given too much – he instilled in you his ability to _touch_ that potential.” A bony finger tapped on the top of the book pile. “From what I’ve read, the Fae involved with the Kiri gave too much. It must take significantly more strength to transfer to a mortal, and even more so to someone with no magical ability. Transference between Fae allows one to give years to another, but leaves their magic intact. The case was not so with the Kiri, and it seems the same with you and Jareth.”

                Her head was aching. She wished that damn wind would stop prickling her skin. “So he…what…burnt himself out? Because I don’t have any magic?”

                “It is difficult to be certain, with the little precedence we have to measure by…but I do think so, yes.”

                “So do you think that’s what happened to the Kiri?”

                “Quite possibly. But in those days their kind was of little import to us. His madness would have been considered a side effect of longevity, the inability of a lesser species to cope with prolonged years. Further research was disregarded for that reason.”             

                Disgusted, Sarah found herself uneasy about suddenly being so much like the Fae. Someone obviously cared enough about one of the Kiri to give up a long life for them, and the others just let him go mad? Because they didn’t expect him to handle immortality? She’d been thrust into a life that was wholly alien to her and had accepted it for the fact that she was at least more humane than the Fae. But what if she became like them after a few hundred years? What if her morality began to fog, her patience slip? What if she outlived Jareth and lost her mind just as the Kiri had?

                “You have more questions,” Malibar said.

                Sarah’s jaw tightened with determination. She would not be another freak occurrence in some dusty old tome. “Is anything that happens in the visions set in stone? Or can I change them?”

                “That depends.”

                “On what?” she asked impatiently.

                “On what you believe. Do you put faith in pre-destiny? Or self-fulfilling prophecy? Do you believe there is a higher power controlling your strings?”

                Sarah wasn’t sure how to answer that. She’d began to believe in fate, in a way, with everything that had happened with Jareth. But that was more of a comfort belief, wasn’t it? A way to reassure herself that she would always be with him, no matter how life turned out in all those other planes of existence. But then she thought of the choices she’d been making the last few days. How she would run the Labyrinth, but in her own manner. How she would let others help, but as long as they obeyed set rules. “I think…that I have a lot more control over my life than I sometimes feel.”

                The old Fae nodded. “Then that is your answer. Those visions will only become realities if you let them.”

                “Okay, next question: how do I stop the visions? I want to shut them out.”

                Malibar vanished from the stool and reappeared by the west wall. He stood where the stone floor became cliff, where the water cascaded viciously underfoot. Sarah joined him, vaguely worried he would topple over the edge with a big enough gust of wind. Her hand itched at her side, just waiting to catch him. “Humans have an obsession with seeing the future, do they not? Many would do anything for the chance to possess your gift.” He stared down into the violent water, pensive. The wind touched them both here, whipping Sarah’s hair into a frenzy.

                “I suppose,” she shrugged, tucking strands behind her ear in vain. “Not everyone though.”

                “Not you?”

                “No.”

                “Why?”

                “It’s too much responsibility. If it was _my_ future I was seeing, I’d second guess every move I made, worried about which outcome would prove to be true. As it is, I can’t sleep at night for stressing about the things Jareth might go through.”

                Malibar frowned. “Why does it bother you so? Surely you can simply ignore the visions.”

                “Because I love him,” Sarah replied, as if it should have been obvious. Of course the old Fae wouldn’t see it that way. “I don’t want to know if he’s going to be in pain, especially if I can’t stop it.”

                “Then you are a coward,” he said dismissively, still not looking at her. Again, she got the impression that he was only half listening, processing things in the back of his mind. “You would squander a talent for fear of facing harsh truths.”

                Sarah’s hand stopped itching to catch him. Maybe she would beat the wind to pushing him over. “You think I give a shit what you call me? I’ve been underestimated by you people for months; I’m well past the point of caring what any of you think. I love Jareth and I don’t want to see him get hurt. That’s all I’m going to say. Besides, the Fae can reorder time, can’t they? I’ve seen Jareth do it. How is that not playing with the past and future? Doesn’t that mess up your ideas of the ‘Fate’s design’, or whatever you all keep saying?”

                Still, the old Fae did not look at her. The water seemed to fascinate him. Or whatever was going on in his head did, at least. There was a lost light in those eyes that said he was deep in thought. “The design is a pattern already laid out for us,” he muttered distantly. “It has no creator, it simply exists. We catch glimpses of its core when touching time. We see things that must not be changed. Things that cannot be reordered. Our ability to touch time is something of a parlour trick.”

                Wasn’t he at all pissed by what she’d said to him? At any rate, this was getting her nowhere. “Look. You said you don’t have time to moralise. I don’t have time for philosophy. Can I stop the visions or not?”

                “Are you certain you _want_ to?” he asked, head snapping up quick as a snake.

                “Yes,” Sarah replied emphatically. “I want them gone.”

                The lost light in his eyes was almost feverish now. “It may be possible to manifest them as something else in you.”

                “How?”

“I have a theory.”

                And he pushed her over the cliff face.

 

* * *

 

 

He refused to feel anything under the hatred in her stare. If looks could kill, then Idris would be named a murderer soon enough. A spot between his shoulder blades itched viciously under the strain, but he maintained a face smooth as silk. It was frustrating enough being sent off to the garden like a child wanted out of the way. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing her presence made him uneasy.

                But then, why wouldn’t she leave him alone? Why sit in the cropped grass with her legs tucked up and her arms crossed as if she’d been forced to stay? He certainly had no desire for company in the garden, least of all hers. He leant into the tree trunk with exaggerated nonchalance, staring at everything but the Fae woman he’d grown up with. The one glaring at him with such intensity he could swear there was more than anger to her expression. It had to be something deeper. She looked…tortured. Even beneath the scar, there was an ugliness borne of some dark emotion.

                He pressed his head back into the bark and let his eyes fall closed. Ignoring her would be the best option. It would get them through the next hour with little pain.

                “I loved you.”

                Perhaps not. Jareth shook his head at her. “You didn’t love me, Idris,” he murmured softly. “You idolised me. I was nothing more than a prince to you, a romanticised image of royalty.”

                It was her turn to shake her head. The pale strands of her hair barely moved, they were so short. When had she cut it? It had been so long since he’d paid any attention to his old life. “You are still so blind,” she hissed, “Even now. What do you think will happen with you and this human girl? That you will live happily ever after like those ridiculous fairy tales her kind lap up? She will outlive you, Jareth. Or else she will go mad, or become something else entirely, or grow bored of you because humans have such short attention spans.” She was on her feet, matching his tension and hard features. “And then what? You have thrown your life away on a whim. You have betrayed us all for a passing fancy.”

                It took much restrain not to flash his teeth in a feral snarl. Jareth stepped towards her, his low voice thick with controlled anger. “You know nothing about her,” he said. “Nothing. And if you ever think to punish her for your own misguided perceptions…” He cracked his jaw, eyes like the heart of winter. “I will _end_ your existence. I will erase you from the Fate’s design as if you’d never been. But first, I will make you _hurt_.”

                Idris laughed coldly in his face. “You think me as primitive as your precious human? I would never stoop to such a low level.” She stepped forward, closing the distance between them. She thrust her scarred face into his defiantly. “Do you know how I got this?” When Jareth didn’t answer, she went on heatedly. “I was trying to defend _you_. I found Malibar the day you hurt him. I’d promised grandmother I would watch out for him. He is the only living relative I care about, but the day he told me what you’d done, I refused to believe it. I convinced myself that he was losing his mind with age. I went to find you. I visited the Castle. But you were gone, far away in the Above somewhere, one of the servants told me. Watching a _girl_. And do you know what happened then?”

                He knew. Suddenly he knew.

                “Your subjects found me,” she spat hoarsely. “They caught me by surprise and tried to rip my throat out. I had to kill them all to escape with my head.” She’d slipped a hand up to touch the rippling flesh of her scarred neck. “I keep this scar so that I remember never to betray my family again. Malibar is the only person that matters to me. And I was punished because I didn’t believe you’d do anything so foolish. I’d wanted to see with my own eyes that you were sitting on that throne as you should have been, with that arrogant lost hatred on your face. I’d wanted to see you smile for the sake of seeing me.”

                Her fingers had left her throat and ghosted over his own. Seeing the look on his face, she shook her head. “You needn’t fear my attentions any longer. I gave you up the moment I received this scar.”

                “And that’s how I know you never truly loved me,” he replied quietly, shaken. “Sarah is riddled with scars because of me. You can’t see them, but they are there. She has been moulded and diverted from herself and challenged in ways you can’t imagine. And yet she still chooses me every single moment. Her love is honest and hard and I will fight to keep it every day of my life.”

                He reached up and covered Idris’ hand, drawing it away from his skin. Her fingers stiffened against his; they were so much colder than Sarah’s, so nimble and unkind. When he let them fall, Idris opened her mouth to speak but was drowned out by a short scream.

                _Sarah_.

 

* * *

 

 

Her stomach lurched with the sickening drop. Silence roared in her ears, fighting with the scream torn from her throat. There was the icy drenching spray of water, a violent heated shudder down her spine…and then nothing. Stone beneath her hands and feet, splayed on all fours as she was. Hair dripped down her shoulders in soaking tendrils. She gasped and threw herself as far back from the cliff edge as she could get.

                “What the _fuck_ ,” she hissed, trembling all over, shielding her face from the vertiginous sight.

                Malibar’s shadow fell over her. “It was a necessary test,” he explained over the laboured sounds of her rapid breathing. “I needed to know if Jareth had transferred any of his magic to you. That is why you can touch those future realities, Sarah Williams. You just saved yourself with his magic. And now that we know you can use it, you can learn to channel it into other abilities. To divert it from the visions you so desperately wish to be rid of.” 

                “You son of a bitch,” she gasped, gingerly getting to her feet just as Jareth came racing through the room. “You had no idea if that would happen or not. I could have died.”

                “Sarah, what –?” Jareth reached them in seconds, standing protectively between her and Malibar. He glowered at the old Fae. “What did you do to her?”

                “I have given her answers,” Malibar replied tersely. “She will thank me for them soon enough.”

                “Like hell I will,” Sarah spat, shivering in Jareth’s arms. She pushed back the slick hair from her face. “You dumped me over a waterfall on a fucking hunch.”

                “But do you see?” Malibar asked heatedly over the top of whatever tirade Jareth had been about to deliver. “What you did required no thought. Magic is instinctual. It is what you live and breathe. It is nothing like the spells and potions your human stories describe. What you just did _proves_ that you can divert the power into other channels. You can rid yourself of the visions.”

                “What visions?” Jareth asked sharply, one hand on Sarah’s arm and the other half reaching out as if to strangle Malibar.

                The old Fae was staring at Sarah expectantly. “You still have a question to ask, don’t you?” he said.

                Though she was dizzy with adrenaline and fury, Sarah fought back the vicious curses on her tongue and glared at him. “Can Jareth get his magic back again?” she asked reluctantly, angrily.

                He wasn’t looking at her. His attention had fallen on the people joining them in the sunlit room. One was kind-faced and awash with concern; she brushed lithely past the other who seemed stiff with rage. “Idris called on me,” Lina said urgently. “Are you all right?” She smoothed down Sarah’s dripping hair.

                “I’m fine,” Sarah answered, more concerned with the way Idris was glaring daggers at Jareth, who seemed all too willing to reciprocate the look. She turned back to Malibar. “You haven’t answered me. I need to know.”

                “You will have to wait for another meeting,” he announced vaguely. “I believe the princess here has matters of her own to discuss with me.”

                If this surprised Lina, she didn’t show it. Instead, she nodded and asked diplomatically if Idris wouldn’t mind seeing them back to the Castle. The woman looked as if she absolutely _would_ mind, but after a look from Malibar she nodded stonily.

Images of old visions flashed by Sarah’s eyes. Hints and guesses and events that would tear Jareth apart in the future, if she let it happen. “No,” Sarah breathed out quickly. “You can’t – I need to –”

                “I am an old man,” Malibar growled. “I have little patience for greedy children.” The look he tossed Jareth was impatient. “Take her Majesty the Goblin Queen back to her Castle. She looks as if she needs a warm bath.”

                Jareth’s hand tightened on Sarah’s arm, but his jaw clenched. He clearly wanted to know what the hell was going on. Sarah’s mouth felt impossibly dry. She couldn’t let Lina talk to Malibar about anything. She couldn’t.

                “What do you want me to do?” Jareth asked her in a murmur.

                _Stop your sister,_ Sarah thought silently. Before she could say a thing, Idris had taken them both by the arms and whirled them away into blackness.

                _No, Lina. No._

 


	20. Sunshine on the Wasteland (Part One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I AM SO SORRY IT HAS TAKEN ME THIS LONG. You have no idea how sorry I am. But I have been SO busy, so run off my feet, but I swear I have spent an hour or two each day just working away at this story. I was going to make you wait for a really long final chapter and then an epilogue, but I’ve decided to just split the final one into 2 parts for you. I’m so sorry for the wait, but there were just times that it felt like I was pulling teeth with this one, and I don’t believe in pushing something that doesn’t want to flow. But I’m getting on track finally, and will probably be done with part two by next week.  
> Again. So sorry.  
> Also, is anyone else going through a second/third/fourth phase of renewed grief? When will the realisation sink in that David is gone? It keeps hitting me. I did something very special for myself though, which was totally meant to be. For months I have been putting together ideas for a Bowie tattoo, something that sums up my love for his music. And then finally, after figuring out an image, I booked the appointment for Sunday January 10th. When I sat down to tell the tattooist what I was after, Bowie started playing on their stereo. I took that as a sign. The next day I heard the news, that it had been the 10th when he left us. Coincidence? I like to think not. I now have a watercolour image of a young Bowie smiling down over my shoulder with lyrics from RocknRoll Suicide. It’s a painting that I did myself, and the woman did it spectacularly on skin for me <3 
> 
> P.S: Poem ‘You, Therefore’, that Jareth murmurs to Sarah, is by Reginald Sheperd.

 

 

**My Tattoo, if anyone wants to see it x :**

**[https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10208227914631413&set=a.1990222231074.2117978.1108902928&type=3&theater](https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10208227914631413&set=a.1990222231074.2117978.1108902928&type=3&theater) **

 

**Nineteen: Sunshine on the Wasteland (Part One)**

 

Brynn had always believed in logic. Well-thought-out reasoning was the cornerstone of his existence. When fools were blinded by prejudice and melodrama, logic was undeniable. He’d had a productive few centuries thanks to unwavering belief in this system. Many a civil riot and political watershed had been quelled thanks to his level-headedness and aversion to bias. Sarah had her own views of what constituted logical reasoning, which clashed with his own more often than not.            

                Despite this, she was also what he believed in.

                Why? There was little explanation. She was important to the Domain for her control over the hordes, but he knew that was not the answer. It didn’t sit right with him – which in itself was a way of thinking he’d never considered before meeting Sarah. Battles were not won by listening to the things thrown about in the core of your heart. So why did Sarah win so many arguments by doing exactly that? _It must be how the humans debate. She’s well-practiced._ But her thirst for dispute irked him. There was a world of difference between _being_ right and _doing_ right, and Brynn was concerned that Sarah didn’t quite understand that yet. She would, with time and age. Wisdom often sprouted from the ashes of childish obstinacy. The problem was the years in between. There would be trying times in the future while she learnt how to navigate her morality safely. And despite what she thought she wanted, he would be there to guide her through. The less mistakes she made as Goblin Queen, the better. If they never became companions because of it, then so be it.

                Such a whirl of thoughts would be enough to drive others to agitation. Brynn merely continued his wandering of the Castle halls, in search of a room to claim as a study. And possibly in search of Sarah - whichever he happened upon first. He was _not_ agitated. Still, he had to wonder at what she’d done to make him so determined. Sarah was impressive when it came down to it. She was imbued with strength and brevity beyond her years, only lacking experience. It was a troubling composition in the wrong person but in Sarah it just meant that she needed guidance. If she was to secure the Labyrinth Throne effectively for the next few centuries, there were things she needed to learn. And Brynn would teach them to her, whether as a friend or an advisor.

                He’d just left behind a stream of pointless rooms – really, who needed snippets of sandy shores and midnight snow drifts? – when his searching proved fruitful.

                Voices around the corner, growing closer: he paused in silence to hear them.

                “– better equipped to help you if I knew what was happening.”

                “I don’t need your help with this.”

                “Are you sure about that? You don’t look half distressed, love. What did he mean by vis –”

                “– Ooph!”

                Sarah collided with Brynn; Jareth crashed into Sarah. He managed to stop her from kneeing him mid-step but they had to take a moment to disentangle themselves. Strangely enough Sarah looked relieved at the sight of Brynn, but Jareth only had eyes for her. It was careful scrutiny that the other man directed over Sarah’s shoulder, a gaze that fell somewhere near her collarbone with equal parts curiosity and worry. Brynn ignored him and addressed Sarah with all the formality he could muster. Their disagreement was only recent, her eager smile confusing.

                “I was hoping to run into you,” she offered into the brief silence.

                “Not quite so literally, I hope,” he replied stiffly.

                Jareth drew in a breath to speak; Sarah heard – or rather felt it at her neck – and rushed forward with a slightly panicked look. “I wanted to apologise about earlier,” she breathed out quickly. “Can we talk?”    

                About what? She’d made her views clear enough. “I don’t –”

                “Wonderful, thanks.” She snatched up his arm tightly – were all humans this erratic? They lacked much in the way of grace and manners. Or at least they did when it came to handling Brynn. For Jareth she was a swan, balancing on toes to plant a tender kiss to his cheek and murmur platitudes. The looks they shared were ones Brynn rarely saw between his own kind, full of such intimacy that he turned away. And then she was all fuss and hurry once more, hauling Brynn down the corridor and muttering under her breath.

They passed a few skulking menaces along the way, goblins lurking in alcoves and slipping back into the shadows. He was used to paying them no mind, but Sarah’s equal disinterest only impressed him further. They were not creatures so easily dismissed, unless one had a strong stomach. She stopped only when they’d zigzagged around enough that he was certain she’d meant to lose Jareth. The quick glance she threw down the corridor confirmed his suspicion. “I need you to do something for me.”

                “I thought you wanted to talk about our conversation earlier?”

                “That was just to stop Jareth breathing down my neck.” Her impatient look clearly said he was to be quicker on the uptake. “I stand by what I said before. But that doesn’t matter now. I need you to talk to Lina for me.”

                “About what?” He wasn’t one to waste time being surprised.

                “I think she’s going to try giving her years to Jareth.”

                “What makes you think that?” Nor on shock.

                She was used to his easy acceptance of things by now, which he was grateful for. It made conversations faster. “I have some of Jareth’s magic. Apparently. And I’ve been seeing bits of his possible future. The visions change a lot, and contradict each other, but the one thing that comes up the most often is Lina sacrificing something for her brother.” There was worry in her expression but determination outweighed it. “We can’t let her do it. Jareth can’t lose her like that.”

                It wasn’t often that he felt conflicted. Where was the logic in denying something fated to happen? But then, what kind of future would the Domain have with a mortal Queen? And further still… “Wouldn’t our involvement be interfering in a personal choice? That’s what you have been concerned about, yes? People are allowed to make mistakes, Sarah. Isn’t that what you inferred yourself?” Maybe he _was_ agitated.

                “This is different and you know it,” she said heatedly. “This is life and death.”

                “ _Everything_ is life and death. We are all living and dying at the same time.”

                Sarah rolled her eyes. “What is it with you people and philosophy? I’m not talking about the grand scheme of things. Lina will _die_ if she does this. How fast does time flow for immortals? What’s fifty years to someone who’s seen a thousand? Jareth will blink and she’ll be dead, after all the shit he’s been through to keep her safe.”

“You could make this much simpler by warning Jareth not to let Lina too close.”

“Not without opening up a whole can of worms. He’ll want to know why. And then when I tell him, he’ll ask about all the other things I’ve seen. It’s _his_ future. Plus, he’s got enough issues with guilt as it is. I don’t want him to feel like it’s his fault I’m stuck with powers and things I don’t want to see.”

                Brynn didn’t know what she meant by a can of worms, nor why she would want to open something like it. He _did_ know that telling Jareth would take the matter out of either woman’s hands. There was no way that stubborn Fae would let his sister come to harm for his own sake. He’d proven time and again that he wasn’t capable of such a thing. Whether or not that was meant to be an insult, he couldn’t have said. The traits he admired in Sarah weren’t necessarily as appealing in his own kind. He suspected his temples were beginning to throb with the beginnings of a headache. She wasn’t half-skilled at poking his conscience with a stick.

As if sensing his hesitation, Sarah latched onto the silence eagerly. “She’s also _your_ future Queen. Don’t you have just a slight problem with her only lasting a few decades? You know she’s going to change things for the better. We can’t let her die without achieving it all.”

“And why can you not have this conversation with her yourself?”

                “Lack of time, mostly. I could be called away any second by a wish, and if I spook her she might just hurry along and do it when I’m busy. But also – well, you’re good at debating, and you’re level-headed. I think she’d listen to you more than me. If she’s anything like Jareth, I might start…yelling at her for being stubborn.” She blushed. “I don’t think that would fly.”

He could have let her win the argument then, if not for the question scratching the back of his throat. Maybe it was cruel, a little insensitive, but he had to know. What would Sarah Williams sacrifice? “You realise, of course, that stopping her from doing this will mean you’ll most likely outlive Jareth.”

                Her reaction was not completely unexpected. He was learning to anticipate the way she tensed all at once, jaw set firm and eyes brimming with fire. “Better that than him outliving me. I never want to leave him on his own again.”

                “A bold statement,” he murmured. “You might change your mind when the time comes. It isn’t easy being the one left behind. Especially if you aren’t accustomed to it.”

                “I’d rather break than leave him broken,” she replied. For all her strength, those words were no more than a whisper.

                For once he knew her brevity to be a lie. But if it was a lie she was willing to believe, then it wasn’t his place to argue. “I’ll speak with her,” he promised.

                He’d have thought the assurance would relax her. She thanked him, tense as ever. “And you won’t tell Jareth about any of it?”

                “You have my word.”

                He noticed her fingers twitch momentarily, half extending out as if to touch his arm. “You’re a good person, Brynn. I’m –” she paused, chewing on the thought. “I’m sorry for being a difficult person. I know I ask a lot from people.”

                For the first time she softened, leaning into the stone wall with a sigh. Shadows darkened her face. He felt a twinge of concern, a desire to sweep the gloom away. “The Fates have asked much of you. It’s only logical that you would require assistance. You are complicated, Sarah, but not quite as difficult as I first thought you to be.”

                Though her smile came with obvious effort, it didn’t go unnoticed. “Thanks. That’s actually pretty sweet of you.”

                Uneasy with the warmth she was stirring in him, Brynn tidied his coat and ignored her. “I would just like to say one more thing about our disagreement earlier.”

                Her eye roll brought them mercifully back to their old dynamic. “You have to ruin it don’t you?”

                “A Queen can learn from _others’_ mistakes, Sarah, but she can’t afford to make her own. This is why I am concerned about you. The Labyrinth sorts humanity with its tests but we can’t forget its other purpose: to satisfy the hordes. There are too many of them for us to truly control. The maze serves to distract them, the way a feather on a cat’s nose keeps its eyes from the mice.”

                She bristled as expected. There was strange comfort in the familiar emotion. “So I’m just the person holding the feather out? Gee, thanks. Here I was thinking this was all just a little more important than that.”

                “It’s the _most_ important thing,” he replied fervently. “Don’t be fooled into thinking otherwise. My people have trusted the Labyrinth as a distraction for millennia without care for its methods. Under your rule, it will be more than it has ever been. Your people can be tested without fear of death; mine can live without fear of rebellion.” He took a step forward, imploring her to understand. He could see her processing the words. “Do you see why I must care for your conscience? Quick words will leave your people in trouble. You need my advice, Sarah.”

                “I know I do,” she admitted. “There’s so much about this place I don’t know. So many details I wouldn’t even know to think about. Like Diego. I realised that he was Erased when the goblins won him…but I didn’t do it, and I know that Jareth couldn’t have. You did, didn’t you?”

                He let the silence answer for him.

                “So you did the dirty work for me…” she stared at the ground, lost. “You didn’t have to. You could have let his memory stay alive. People lose children. It happens.”

                “If I didn’t, it would have happened of its own accord. The magic of the Labyrinth is semi-sentient. But if the wished away are Erased like that it can never be reversed, if the chance should arise.”

                “But mine can, right? Jareth said so. I could go home like nothing’s happened. Visit my family.”

                “Would you want to?”

                “Yes,” she answered firmly. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I don’t care if I have to lie or hide my age…I need them in my life, even if they drive me crazy.”

                He nodded in silence. Familial bonds eluded him.

                “But anyway, I was trying to make a point. I _know_ that I need your help. But you don’t have to be a dick to teach me lessons, all right?”

                The colloquial was lost on him, but from her tone he got the idea. It shouldn’t have made a difference whether he’d snapped at her or spoken calmly. Reason was reason. And the truth was that she’d made a mistake. Yet there she went, twisting logic into something else entirely with those eyes full of emotion. And he couldn’t help but feel a little chastised. “You are stubborn and careless with your tongue, Sarah…but you aren’t a child. And for inferring that…I apologise.”

                 “Thanks.”

                Why did her smile seem a reward? Brynn shook himself off. The conversation was becoming all too human for his comfort. “I’m looking for a place to make my study,” he said brusquely, turning to walk down the hall so she had to keep up. “You’re going to need me close at hand. I trust you don’t mind my intrusion?”

                She said it would be fine, but her thoughts were on other things. It was clear in the way she bit her lip and stared off into the distance. “You’ll talk to Lina soon, right?”

                “As soon as possible,” he answered. They were almost back to their original spot before she spoke again.

                “Do things stop hurting if you live long enough?”

                “I don’t understand.”

                “I mean losing someone. Someone you care about. If you live long enough, will it stop hurting?”

                He’d never needed to think about that before. “I –”

                “Hey,” Sarah called, spotting Jareth down the hall. Her quiet ponderings were cast aside, for now. “Thought I told you not to wait up?”

                “I was just exercising my free will, love,” he replied nonchalantly, pushing away from the wall he’d been leaning on. “It needs a good run every so often to keep in shape. Especially if you are to be my constant companion.”

The subtleties of romance were often lost on Brynn, but he knew lovers when he saw them. Their smiles were natural, her hand instinctually catching his. They seemed at peace in a world he’d never tried to understand.

“I’ll leave you to it Brynn,” said Sarah, cradling Jareth’s hand on her shoulder. “Take any room you like. There’s some big airy places toward the North Tower you might like.”

He exchanged a brief nod with Jareth before they separated. Sarah’s request was fresh on his mind; there was no need to clarify the task. He would seek an audience with the Princess as soon as she was available. _There’s no logic in having a mortal Queen. She needs time._ It made sense. He would not let the consequences outweigh the benefits.

And yet Brynn couldn’t help but have one thought stuck in his head: _if you live long enough, will it stop hurting?_

 

* * *

 

 

He’d forgotten what normal could feel like. Fleeting as it had been recently, he was uncomfortable with it at first. Sarah did the admiring of the web garden, neglected as it was, while Jareth tamed his rampant mind. It should have been quite easy: Sarah was a vision of freshly showered woman, flushed pink and warm. She ducked beneath the vast glistening network of silver, trailing fingers along them while her damp hair soaked the back of her pale dress. For once, the sight was not able to distract him.

                “You’re doing it again,” she called without looking at him. The web rippled outwards from her touch; she smiled without conviction.

                “I’m not,” he lied, shifting on the grass. They’d come to the garden with the notion of casting aside worry for the afternoon. Sarah was delving quite successfully into the moment, but Jareth was struggling.

                “I know it’s hard,” she told him gently. “But we need some time to ourselves.” She picked a path back to him. “Keel’s funeral is tonight. I’ll probably miss it because of another wish. Brynn’s making himself at home as my right hand man, so you’re going to have to deal with him eventually. The goblins are still unsure about you, which means we’ll need to be careful about how we act around them. I’ll have to see Malibar again, much as I don’t want to.” She sat beside him, legs crossed, thigh pressed against his. “Just a little time, Jareth. Half an hour. You and me. No stress, no thinking.”

                He picked up her hand, kissing the wrist that had once been ringed by blue. It brought out a beautiful red in her cheeks, but he had no stomach for admiring it. “At the Drop,” he murmured. “You saved yourself from falling. How?”

                Her eyes were on the wrist in his fingers, staring as if seeing marks, no longer there. “Good to see you’re clearly listening to me,” she remarked stiffly.

                But it was there, caught fluttering in his thoughts, and he wanted to free it. He enclosed her hand in both of his, pressed it against his chest. “Tell me, precious. Put my mind at ease.”

                “Those are two very contradicting requests.”                     

“Malibar said you could learn to divert power,” he pressed on. “From what?”

“From the magic you gave me,” she sighed finally, touching softly the scars he bore for her: his hand, the slashes above his eye. “You burnt yourself out saving my life. I got a little more than you meant to give.”

Something unnameable surged inside him. “My…” For a moment, just the time it took for one heartbeat to become another, he longed to feel what had once been his. A sliver of hot emotion boiled and faded into nothing – had that been a flicker of envy? Surely not. But no – if it could be somewhere in Sarah, and not simply gone, that was better than he could have hoped for. His fingers moved to the base of her throat, tender and careful. Her pulse flickered with life, with the magic no longer his. He closed his eyes and listened to the soft beat.

                “I’m going to give it back to you,” Sarah murmured firmly. “I think Malibar knows how.”

                Reluctantly Jareth let his hand fall away from the pulse. He traced her bottom lip with a thumb instead. “Keep it,” he told her. “It might protect you in ways I can’t.”

                “But –”

                “You’ll do as you’re told, precious. This time.”

                She shifted to sit with her legs over his lap, shaking her head. He could see the thoughts whirling through her. Those eyes were unfathomably deep sometimes. “Jareth, I –”

                And then other times they tended to glaze over. He’d noticed this a few times, the faraway look that would overcome her. She’d be silent for a while when that happened, lost. He often wondered what was so important as to derail any other train of thought. Inexplicably, upon shaking herself out of it, she turned to him with a smile and asked: “What do you think of being called Uncle Jareth?”

                He frowned. “I’m sorry? What in the Fate’s Design made you think of _that_?”

                “I don’t know,” she shrugged, picking at a thread on his cuff. “I just thought…I’ll have to tell people Above about you – in some way or another. At least that I’m in a relationship so they don’t meddle. And so what if Toby has kids one day? Or Alice? You could be the cool uncle who watches them on weekends. I’ll tell them you’re in a band.” She grinned conspiratorially. “What do you think?”

                Just like that, he remembered what normal could feel like. One moment they could be discussing the ancient magic running through her veins and the next, her brother’s children. He dipped his head to her, inhaling the scent of her warm skin. “I’m rusty in the art of babysitting, love.”

                “Baby sitting’s a breeze,” she assured him. “Dinner at six, bed at eight, and no wishing the kid away to the goblins.”

                “You say that so innocently,” he remarked dryly, smirking into her hair.

                She pressed her cheek into his shoulder, which seemed to end that particular conversation. “I gave you such a hard time, didn’t I?” she asked around a soft exhalation. It could have passed for a gentle laugh.

                “You’ll have to be a little more specific,” he replied, hazy with a rediscovered languor.

                “Ass.” She gave his arm a half-hearted swat. “When I first came here. You wanted to show me your world and I was a bitch about it.”

                He recalled the complete and utter defiance burning in her eyes, the expressions of borderline loathing. But he saw again the fear, too, remembered the shell of brevity she’d climbed into during those early weeks. She might’ve been difficult but he hadn’t exactly been innocent in their encounters. His temper had been short, then. Over his shoulder he could see the spot where they’d stood and argued viciously. “You were rather…impervious to my charms,” he said simply.

                “I was trying to prove a point to Mira, if that makes you feel better.”

                “Not particularly.”

                “No, didn’t think it would. Sorry.”

                “What point were you trying to make, precious?”

                She drew her thumb along the seam of his sleeve, biting her lip. “That you didn’t love me. I thought if I yelled and screamed bloody murder at you long enough you’d snap, and she’d see you didn’t have feelings for me.”

                “Ah. Well, _that_ was a plan doomed from the start, wasn’t it?”

                She beamed. “You really cared about me, didn’t you? Even in the beginning, when I treated you like shit.”

                “You…were a curiosity to me. I liked your spirit.”

                “Seriously? We drove each other crazy, Jareth. How did you find time to like me in between all that fighting?”

                “Well we both managed somehow, I’d say. We’re here, aren’t we?”

                She was fairly comfortable in his lap by that point. Something glimmered in the light: his pendant around her neck, hanging between her breasts. She never seemed to take it off though it could be heavy, in many ways, sometimes. He touched it, cool and smooth as ever, brushed her sternum, pulsing with life and magic. How many other things would he give to her? He half expected to hear another beat behind her ribs, the duet of her heart and his own planted there. She smiled, beatific under the glistening webs, ethereal to him. They kissed, and he let go of all thought, and the afternoon fell away.

                _Yes, we’re here, aren’t we?_

* * *

 

 

Sarah was right. She missed Keel’s funeral.

                _“Eighteen hours,” Jareth complained as she passed by him in a flurry. “Eighteen hours and you’ve neither eaten nor slept, Sarah.”_

_“How can I?” she growled, fisting her hair with nervous energy. “He’s **six years old** , Jareth. How is he going to survive this? If Brynn leaves him alone for one second…”_

_“The man has been given his task and he’ll follow it through,” he assured her. How could he stay so calm? “He takes orders better than most.”_

_She didn’t have time to acknowledge that small compliment. All of her concentration was on the mirror in her hand. Within in the glass was the image of a tiny boy crawling through mud, Brynn by his side. Red-eyed creatures snaked through the swamp with ease behind then. “Come on,” she murmured, feverish with worry. “You can do this. You can do this.”_

_She couldn’t take her eyes from the images. Jareth couldn’t stand to watch._

_Later:_

_“He’ll understand Sarah, yer can’t go worryin’ yourself into a mess like this.” Hoggle tried to catch her hand, her shirt, anything to stop her pacing. It was driving him mad. But she shirked him off easily and kept moving. “He knows what’s really important to –”_

_“ **He’s** important to me!” she snapped, glaring too at Jareth as if he’d added his two cents. “His cousin is **dead** because of me! And I couldn’t even go to the fucking funeral, and it’s been **hours** and I still haven’t been able to see him! And you know what’s driving me crazy? I feel so fucking guilty because my head is full of pictures of this tiny little boy trying to run this crazy maze. It’s all I can think about.” Tears were streaming down her cheeks. He hated to see Sarah cry. “Why are you here, anyway?” she sniffed loudly, grimly. “Henry’s about to reach the oubliette. That’s your forte, right?”_

_“Right,” he sighed. There was nothing he could do. She was too worked up. Sharing a look with Jareth, the Dwarf-Goblin headed back into the Labyrinth._

_Later:_

_Some twenty-two hours in, Brynn decided to appear. They’d seen him vanish in the mirror and Jareth had had no misconceptions about how Sarah would react._

_“What are you doing?” she cried the second he arrived. “Get back to Henry! He needs you!”_

_“He’s perfectly safe for now,” Brynn replied smoothly. He was always too smooth for Jareth’s liking. “The others are watching over him while he sleeps. Something **you** are in dire need of doing.”_

_“Don’t you start,” she snapped. Surely the stone beneath her feet had been worn down by her constant pacing? “You need to get back there. He’s too little and the boys scare him. He needs you.”_

_“I’ve come to make a suggestion. It’s not too late for you to put a time limit on the runs. To avoid these…situations.” He studied her. “It doesn’t become you.”_

_Sarah’s reply was fairly ineloquent. He put it down to sleep-depravation and adrenaline. It involved much swearing and the repetition of one fact: she wouldn’t doom someone just because they couldn’t move fast enough. She wouldn’t be proud of that outburst, later on._

_Later:_

_“I can’t do this Jareth. I can’t do it anymore.”_

_“You can, love. It’s almost over.”_

_He ran his fingers through her hair, massaged her scalp, hummed ancient songs of peace. Sheer exhaustion had finally won out, with Sarah agreeing to have a rest. But nothing would help her fall asleep. Not with the thoughts stuck in her mind. He longed for a simple touch of magic that would have her dozing in a heartbeat, but those luxuries were beyond him now. Instead he shushed her restless soul, ignored his own worry for the boy and for the Elf, and hoped for the best._

_Later:_

_She hadn’t quite got the hang of breaking her fall yet._

_Sometimes Jareth was quick enough to catch her from a Return, other times she was left with bruises. Today, she didn’t give a shit if she broke her arm crashing to the stone floor. In the moment between unreality and the Castle, when she flew through nothingness at the speed of life, Sarah grinned. He’d won. He’d **won.** Henry would be going home and so would his cousin. Thirty-three hours of stress and torment melted away for that blissful heartbeat between worlds. _

                _She did in fact hit the stone again, bruising her tailbone and scraping her palms. It meant nothing to her_. _Jareth collected her with an apology but she got to her feet with a smile._

_“He won,” she announced in a daze, exhausted. “He won.”_

                That moment of happiness was not enough to still her shaking hands now, though. Brynn was taking her to see Wick. They’d all protested of course, arguing that she needed a good night’s sleep after such a long run. Thankfully Jareth had been able to see what she truly needed, and demanded that Brynn transport her to the Elf community immediately.

                She stared at the grainy wood of Wick’s front door and did nothing.

                “Are you cold?” Brynn asked, misreading her trembling. “Do you require a cloak?”

                “I’m not cold,” she replied distantly, eyes flicking to the lights in the window. Would she be bothering him now? Was he busy with something?

                “Then why are you shaking? Are you afraid?”

                “No, I’m just – I’m fine, Brynn. Really.” She forced the roughness from her voice. It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t read people sometimes. “Do you mind if I do this alone? I think Wick will be able to take me home later. And if not, I’ll call you.”

                “Very well.” He made a sharp gesture with his arm that could have been a shrug. He walked away a few paces before vanishing.

                The darkness outside the house seemed worse, then. She knocked on the door, if only to be given refuge from the accusing streets. Were there members of Wick’s family nearby, mourning and watching her and judging her worth for what she’d allowed to happen? She knocked again.

                The door swung inwards without a sound. Light spilled onto the paving stones, silhouetting the Elf with a warm glow. It was difficult to read his expression against the shadows. “Sarah?”

                “I’m –” the words caught in her throat, she swallowed them down and tried again. “I’m so sorry, Wick.”

                No matter what everyone else had said, she’d still worried that he would hate her for missing the funeral. And the days after it.

                Wick reached out and brushed the back of his fingers across her forehead. “I was worried about you,” he murmured.

                Sarah burst into tears.

                He pulled her through the door and into his arms, sharp cheekbones pressing against hers. She’d forgotten how thin he was; her hands interlocked easily around his bony waist. It was inexplicably comforting to feel that wiry, jagged Elf body next to hers. Wick was soft in different ways. _I was worried about you_. When he was living deep in grief, _he_ was worried about _her_. She sobbed against his cheek, just once, soothed by the presence of a very good friend. When she’d settled down, Wick drew back and brushed her forehead again. “Would you like to visit her?” he asked.

                She knew exactly what he meant. “Yes please,” she whispered.

               

* * *

 

 

“I remember every moment you’ve upset me, Sarah.”

                He’d chosen to walk her to the memorial site. Gateways left little time for what needed to be said. Lights flickered out through the streets of his community; it was late for those donning their Servant Selves in the morning. He could see quite well in the dark, but for Sarah’s sake they’d joined hands to keep her from falling. She stumbled anyway at his first words since leaving his house. And he knew it wasn’t the darkness, so he hurried on: “Mostly they seemed to involve you being too stubborn for your own good. And the impossible favours you asked of me.”

                “Why are you telling me this?” She was quieter than usual, reserved.

                He knew she was still doubting him. “Because I’m _not_ upset with you because of Keel’s death,” he murmured, squeezing her hand.

                “How can you know what you’re feeling?” she replied anxiously. “It’s only been a few days. You’ll probably feel a lot differently when reality sinks in.”

                Wick should his head. “I won’t. I’m not even mad at myself anymore, for bringing her into all this.”

                Her steps slowed. “You’re not?”

                “What good would it do?” he shrugged. “Laying her souls to rest has done something for me, Sarah. Before, I was aching…I – but now it doesn’t seem so…” Oh, what were the words? He’d never been good at this sort of thing. “It seems more manageable.”

                She might’ve thought that sceptical look was hidden by the night, but he could see well enough.

                “The point I’m trying to make is that I’ll always be honest with you. You’ve been annoying, persistent, difficult and demanding before. And you’ll be those things again, at some time or another. It’s who you are. It’s who _I_ am.” He drew them to a stop as one, curling Sarah’s fingers with his own. She looked about ready to protest his ‘honesty’ with that classic Sarah Williams expression. It warmed him. “I will _never_ be angry at you for what happened to Keel. It _isn’t your fault_. And by the Fate’s design…I swear I am not upset with you for missing her final ceremony. You had no choice.”

                Whether she truly believed him or not was difficult to say. The tension left her but for the hint of unease in those eyes. That would do for now. Taking up their steady pace together, Sarah dropped his hand in favour of looping arms. “It took thirty-three hours for a boy to run the Labyrinth,” she told him with a sigh.

                He whistled low, immediately imagining the stress she would have put herself through for the child. “Would you like to talk about it?”

                “Not really. He won. I’d rather just be done with it.”

                “I suppose I would too.”

                “I just…that’s why I couldn’t make it –”

                “Sarah…”

                “I know I know, you’re okay with it. I just had to tell you.”

                “Consider me told. Now that’s enough of the matter.”

                Their stop-start journey settled into something with more ease and direction. He’d missed her comforting presence and the gentle curve of her compared to his own people. He’d missed the strange things she talked about sometimes, like stories watched on contraptions called TeeVee, or how she preferred Gateways to _cars_ , whatever they were. No odd details of the Above came forth from her tonight, though. This was fine. Wick found he didn’t have much to say himself, now that they’d cleared the air. It was enough just to walk together, breathing in the cool night. Houses fell away around them as the path veered out of town. It took them through forestland rich with variety: crimson oaks and Thorneside cedars grew side by side, while bursts of evergreen shrubbery glimmered in the undergrowth, emerald in the moonlight.

                “Beautiful,” Sarah murmured, touching a crimson oak reverentially as they passed. She inspected her fingers as if expecting them to be stained red. “Your people have some really beautiful land tucked up your sleeves. Bet the Fae are jealous.”

                “Why should they be?” Wick replied blankly. “It’s their land. None of this is native to us.”

                Sarah turned to fix with him a sharp gaze. “What do you mean? You live here, don’t you?”

                “We do _now_. We haven’t always. This is Fae territory.”

                “So why…?”

                This was so familiar, sharing information she’d be suitably outraged over, that he couldn’t help but feel comforted. Nothing ever changed too much. Sarah would always question everything and fight for what she thought proper. “You’re not going to enjoy this one,” he told her.

                Her expression clearly told him to go on.

                “Elf territory used to run alongside the Fae’s. Centuries and centuries ago. Before the Palace royals realised we would make excellent servants, because of our strength with magic. After that they started encroaching on our rights and land, picking us off in groups to become staff.” He studied a quivering blackthorn with only mild interest. What did native Elf trees look like? “The story’s very old, and the details aren’t clear…but after decades of this, my people did the only thing left to them. They moved the homeland.”

                “I don’t follow,” Sarah told him, confused.

                “Before too much could be taken, they secreted away the land to some place far off where Fae couldn’t find us.”

                “You…you just _moved_ your whole territory? Just like that?”

                “I did say it’s a very old story,” he replied sheepishly. But it was _his_ story, a notion of hope in the heart of all Elves. “It couldn’t be done these days. The knowledge is long lost, if it ever existed to begin with.”

                “But then if you ran away, why are you all still slaves?”

                “Servants,” he corrected, because it mattered. To him. “Something went wrong. The magic failed. Maybe a miscalculation or lack of focus…but the land was moved without us. All that was left was hundreds of Elves on bare, nameless land. So of course, the Fae snapped us up. We’ve been theirs ever since. Splitting us our souls guaranteed that.”

                “But you’ve got a home out there!” she exclaimed, just as he thought she would. “Why don’t you run away? The Fae don’t know where it is!”

                “And neither do we,” he said. “Wherever the homeland was headed that day, we were meant to find out by going with it. Now…” A mournful longing started to pull at him. Wick shrugged it away with some effort. He had enough to mourn already. “Look, it doesn’t matter all that much anymore. It was so long ago to us. We’ve lived this way for generations. When we retire, we’re free to go searching, but what would be the point?

                “You’d find your _home_. Isn’t that reason enough?”

                “Home is where you make it, Sarah.” He stared ahead at their destination. “It has to be.”

                She followed his gaze to the memorial site that had opened up before them. A softly exhaled ‘oh’ was her reaction, hand seeking his once more. “Wick, it’s gorgeous.”

                He was very familiar with the view by now. It had been a clearing once but was now brimming with young trees, a visible break separating them from the rest of the forest. The grass was sleek and dark, thickly grown, and the way it moved in the wind seemed to offer directions around each grave. They were diverse in age, some as tall as himself and others no higher than Sarah’s knee. Some were dainty with youth, delicate and swaying, while others were thick enough to host bird’s nests without trouble. Every single one of them was pitch black. Wherever moonlight struck a branch it shimmered like polished marble. Wick led Sarah through them, enjoying her gasp of delight at the glow that surrounded trees they passed. Some of the larger ones he remembered visiting years ago, when his older relatives had moved on. They glowed too, beckoning, but he had only eyes for one.

                Keel’s place was marked by a seedling. It pulsed with gentle light at their feet, glimmering with the moon. Sarah crouched, hands on her knees, hair spilling over her face. “Oh,” she breathed out in a whisper, “She’s so tiny.”

                “She won’t be for long,” Wick murmured. “That was a seed only yesterday.”

                “Do they grow that fast?”

                “It depends on the person.”

                “She’ll be bigger than everyone here in no time then.” She tucked hair behind her ear and reached out to gingerly touch a leaf on the seedling. “It’s so warm.” They stood in a heartbeat of silence, then: “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you.”

                He had the feeling this wasn’t directed at him. When he tried to give Sarah privacy, she groped behind her for his boot, a plea to stay. So they settled in together, legs crossed, the cool night ruffling their hair. Sarah was quiet for a time, hands folded neatly in her lap, eyeing the seedling with a heavy expression.

                “I’m sorry we didn’t get along very well,” she murmured eventually. Her voice carried in the wind. Wick kept silent and let her talk. “I guess we didn’t have enough time to get to know each other. But you were –” again a warble, a hard swallow – “You were a _very_ strong woman, Keel. More than I could ever be.” She reached out again, touched the smallest leaf. “Thank you for saving my life.”

                Wick let Sarah curl her face into his shoulder then, and cry silently, while he touched the soil at the base of the seedling. It glowed anew, the tiny branches shivering with the flow of magic. “A little something to help you grow,” he whispered, wondering how tall she’d be by next spring.

 

* * *

 

 

Some things didn’t need saying. Jareth was reminded of this multiple times over the next few days. Sarah used to watch over him when he slept, fingers in his hair, soothing words falling to him. He remembered that more than the nightmares that had plagued him. It was one of those things he’d never mentioned, for fear of spoiling the magic of those secret moments. Of course he remembered waking to find her smoothing down his hair or murmuring poetry. But the beauty of those times was too pure for words.

                Returning the favour weeks later, he kept his silence for a different reason. He was reading into the early hours of dawn with Sarah asleep beside him. Her delicious heat warmed his side, curled into him as she was. The bedroom was silent but for the gentle scrape of pages turning and Sarah’s light breathing. He was just thinking himself one lucky bastard when she started to twitch, murmuring and fidgeting. Casting his book aside, Jareth turned to watch. It wasn’t unfamiliar for her to be restless while sleeping. But the frown didn’t go away and her eyelids fluttered rapidly. _Where are you,_ he wondered, only able to imagine. He knew that she could be soothed easily enough by a hand through her hair. Adding a few lines of song wasn’t strictly necessary but he liked to think his voice calmed her. When her sleep became peaceful again he continued reading, book propped on his knees so that he could brush fingers across her temple. It was different from this perspective, and he wondered if Sarah looked back on her time watching him as pure at all. There was little magic in being the one awake, seeing the nightmares take hold.

                Two nights later she screamed herself hoarse. At first he thought they were under attack, waking in an instant to face an assailant. Blinking at the sudden lights in the room, Jareth found himself alone with Sarah as they’d been all night. She was thrashing in the sheets, struggling to break free while screaming about death and falling. Face twisted, sweat dripping, eyes wide open at some unseen horror – Sarah was deep in her imagination. She ignored everything he tried to say. Nothing he did could rouse her from the horrific night terror. Jareth was at a loss of what to do. Even yelling in her face out of desperation did nothing. When she started to scratch at him he was forced to pin her wrists down. It made his skin crawl to see her wailing and shaking beneath him. Waiting it out was agony, knowing all too well the blood and horror she was likely to dream of. He tried to fill her ears with poetry, in the hope it might bleed through the nightmares: _you are a concordance of person, number, voice, and place, strawberries spread through your name as if it were budding shrubs, how you remind me of some spring, the waters as cool and clear –_ her cries quietened but still she stared around her for an attacker.

He carried on: _(late rain clings to your leaves, shaken by light wind), which is where you occur in grassy moonlight:  and you are a lily, an aster, white trillium or viburnum, by all rights mine, white star in the meadow sky, the snow still arriving from its earthwards journeys, here where there is no snow –_ Sarah blinked into consciousness as if from a trance, falling still beneath him. He released her immediately, only for her to crawl into his arms and sob. He carried on with his poem, laying her down against him, stroking her hair. He didn’t ask and she didn’t tell. There was no magic to spoil this time, rather a silence borne of mutual understanding. _I know, love. I know_.

                 Jareth learnt this lesson a few times over the following days. It wasn’t always necessary to say _thank you_ , to say _I understand,_ to say _I’m here._ He and Sarah lived and breathed these things, most often in the dead of night. One night she woke from a cold sweat and ravaged his mouth in desperation. Her eyes screamed for him to make her forget everything else. He understood that too. How many times had he wished to lose himself between her thighs, to push away all eternal concerns for the sake of mortal contentment? Often, with the right moves, she screamed for kinder reasons. It became a way of averting nightmares altogether. With enough sex they could sleep right through the night for sheer exhaustion.

                Some things didn’t need saying. Some things were too painful or pure or primal for words. They weren’t earth-shifting events, these nights they kept each other awake. Others would have called them commonplace, had they known. Lovers comforting one another was nothing new. To Jareth they were very new, and very important, and he was happy to go on never saying certain things for the rest of his life with Sarah.

 

* * *

 

 

With less than a week until her coronation, Lina had little time for visitors. She’d come to expect frequent interruptions from the Council, needing this and that with her signature and counsel. No hour of the day was safe from Ezra’s prying eyes or Marina’s demands on her time. And she hadn’t even been crowned yet!  If it was a foreshadowing of her life to come, Lina wondered if she’d ever sleep again. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help feeling excited. There were so many possibilities lying ahead of her, so many facets of Domain life she’d soon have the power to change. The Elves were her top priority, though that was a political interest kept close to her heart. It would take years to sway her people on the matter of equal rights. If she scared them off and had her reign questioned because of too much change too quickly, nobody would be any better off. She had to pace herself. But oh, in a few years’ time when she could tell Sarah that the Elves were free civilians…

                “I didn’t think reports on inner-city trade were much to smile about,” Marina commented dryly. The Fae was slight but tall and she towered over Lina’s desk in all her usual shimmering attire. Sarah had mentioned how she found the woman intimidating, with her rich self-assured voice and stately presence. Lina was not so easily unsettled yet her feet, having been tucked up beneath her on the chair, slid to the floor before she could stop them. Taming her wayward grin, she handed the freshly-signed papers back to Marina.

                “I only smile to keep from weeping,” she replied with a terse head shake. “When did mother discontinue trade with the Dwarves? They were a key supplier of jewels and craft the last I was aware. The absence is more than obvious...”

                A flicker of movement at the doorway caught her attention, so that Marina’s response faded into the background. “Do I have a visitor?” she asked, gaze directed beyond.

                Marina’s brow twitched in irritation at being cut off, but she turned to inspect the doorway.

                A man stepped forward with a low bow to the pair of them. “Forgive the intrusion, your Royal Highness,” he said in a low, steady voice. If his dark, neat attire and shockingly red markings weren’t enough for her to recognise him, that stony expression was.

                “Brynn?” she raised a brow in surprise. What was the former Goblin King doing at her door? _This_ was a visit she hadn’t expected. “Can I help you with something?”

                “Just a reminder that you do have several important meetings lined up for the afternoon,” said Marina pointedly, eyeing Brynn curiously. Nobody came unannounced to the Princess.

                “I’m aware of my schedule,” Lina replied smoothly, gesturing for the man to enter. “Is this important, Brynn? Is everything all right with Sarah?”

                “As all right as it can be,” Brynn replied, hands folded behind his back. “Sarah is…adjusting to her situation slowly.”

                That wasn’t exactly encouraging. “Then what have you come to see me about?”

                The man’s eyes flicked over to Marina for just a second. “I have something rather…private…to discuss with you.”

                Another surprise. The man was full of them today. “Oh? Can it wait?”

                “I’m afraid not. I’m aware your coronation is soon and that you don’t have much spare time, but this concerns your brother.”

                “Well then.” Lina turned to the Councilwoman. “Would you send apologies to those I’m meeting? This could be a late afternoon.”

                She didn’t bother to advise against it, nodding curtly at the direction. Lina liked that in her, unlike a few choice others who would have taken issue with the command and the dismissal.

                “Oh!” she reached out to catch the woman’s wrist but stopped herself – Queens didn’t snatch at people like overly-familiar children. “And would you mind issuing invitations to the Dwarf tradespeople to discuss contracts with me? I doubt the cities should go on without their craftsmanship.”

                If that was a slight nod of approval from the woman, neither of them mentioned it. Left alone with Brynn, Lina jumped to her feet, skirts swishing as she rounded the desk. “Is –”

                “Jareth is fine,” he reassured her, hands momentarily raised. Whether to placate or to ward off her frantic advances was difficult to say. The man seemed to pick and choose when he wanted to be familiar with someone. “But he won’t be if you go through with what you’re planning.”

                Her first thought was of the Elves, and she frowned in confusion. “I don’t see what that has to do with my brother.”

                He raised a brow. “You don’t think transference against his will might affect him in any way?”

                “What are you –? Oh.” Clarity dawned, but then – “How do you know about that?” she asked sharply, prickling in defence. Malibar had taught her just days ago how to perform the act. “I haven’t told anyone.”

                “Sarah,” he said. “Jareth gave her his magic as well as his years. She’s been seeing his future, which seems to mostly entail a sacrifice on your part.” Those keen grey eyes reminded her of hawks and eagles. “From your face, I assume she’s drawn the right conclusion?”

                For once, Lina found she didn’t have an answer.

                “Sarah has sent me to dissuade you from your endeavour.”

                 “Oh?” Decades of peacekeeping put her back up instantly: she was used to threats, though shocked at the source. “What does she think you can achieve with me?”

                Brynn shook his head. “I’m sorry, that sounded…ominous. I didn’t mean for it to be so.”

                For a minute his hard features softened into something almost contrite, and Lina realised she was being a fool. Neither Sarah nor Brynn were capable of strongarming. “No, I’m sorry,” she told him. “Sometimes my reactions are far too habitual.”

                “Peacekeeping will drive your instincts towards defence,” he remarked, supplying her with an excuse. His head tilted a little as he studied her. This time she thought of wolves, not birds, but oddly enough felt no danger. A tame wolf, perhaps. One she could scratch behind the ear. She shook the thought from her head.

“Surely Sarah must realise I’m doing this for her? For the both of them? Without my years, Jareth will die. And Sarah will live on as Goblin Queen alone.” Her voice faded in strength. “She can’t want that.”

                “It doesn’t matter what she wants,” Brynn replied as if it were of no importance. “She’s willing to face that day when it comes.”

                “Of course she thinks that _now_. She’s trying to be brave. That won’t be the case in eighty years’ time when my brother is grey on his death bed.”

                “And in eighty years’ time when _you_ are greying in your bed? Do you suppose he will thank you for forcing him into what should have been your position?”

                “I don’t doubt that he’ll be angry with me,” she retorted. “I fully expect to be harassed for a few decades. But that’s a small price to pay for saving his life. If the idiot is too proud to see what I’m doing for him, then that’s just something I’ll have to handle. Sarah and Jareth will need each other for far longer than the time they’ve got now.”

                Brynn shook his head fiercely, taking a step towards her. “You’re letting sentiment cloud your vision.”

                “I’m not,” she insisted, echoing his movements. “Sarah is the one making all the sacrifices here. She’s giving up her entire life to rule the Goblin Realm so that she can be with Jareth. If he dies, do you expect her to stay Underground? We need a reason to keep her here.”

                “I don’t believe you could be that manipulative,” he said unflinchingly. “It isn’t like you.”

                He may have called her bluff, but he didn’t need to know. “What’s the difference if I last five decades rather than five centuries?” she asked, changing the subject. “There’ll be plenty of other Queens after I’m gone.”

                “None quite like you,” he countered immediately. “You’re the catalyst for changes such as our people have never seen.”

                She’d been hearing that a lot lately. Marina’s opinion was not quite as dramatic, but the idea was there nonetheless. Lina wasn’t so sure herself. Oh, she could dream well enough: freeing the Elves, turning around the Labyrinth with Sarah, softening harsh laws that’d been in place for too long. The truth was, she lay awake at night doubting whether any of it would ever be accomplished. And just what makes you so certain, Brynn Fel Vaden?”

                “You are your father’s daughter,” he said plainly.

                Lina stared at him. She had vague recollections of Brynn from her childhood. He was a good fifty years older, which had rendered him another dull adult in her eyes. He’d been so typically Fae that he hadn’t warranted much of her attention. Now she suspected he was becoming something different and she was as curious as time would allow. She had very little of her own time these days. But she thought of her father, and all the ways she _did_ resemble him. “Being Jaster El’Maven didn’t end well for him,” she murmured. “You think what I intend to do will go unchallenged?”

                “You know his death had nothing to do with his choices in life,” he replied quietly. “When we were younger Ezra would often say how thankful she was that Mira hindered the King’s political projects. She said they were of no use to our way of life.” Without moving any closer he seemed to fill the space around her – it was those eyes, strong and clear and unwavering. He might’ve been handsome if he could loosen that stern expression. “Imagine what the daughter of Jaster El’Maven could accomplish without someone like Mira to intervene. The Domain needs you as you are. For as long as possible.”

                Lina closed her eyes and thought of Kiff, and her heart ached. One hundred years. It had been more than a _century_ and still she missed him. She’d never laughed or cried as hard as when that damn Elf’s heart had been hers. It seemed unlikely that she’d ever love someone like that again. There was no doubt in her mind that what Jareth and Sarah shared was much the same, save for one difference: their union had a _chance_. Her brother had given up his future to save her from a grim fate. If it was within her capability to return the favour, what right did she have to ignore it? And if she could prevent Sarah ever feeling the loss she’d had to go through, wasn’t that something to be mindful of? Lina had often told herself these were the reasons behind what she wanted to do. But once, just once, lying in bed alone at the break of dawn, she’d thought of another reason. If she gave her years to Jareth, then she wouldn’t outlive him. She wouldn’t have to be the one who lost someone else. It was a petty, selfish idea that made her cringe to even consider it. But it had come to her that one lonely dawn and she was hard-pressed to be rid of it sometimes.

                “Eighty years is time enough to achieve the things we dream of,” Lina murmured. “This isn’t a death sentence – not in any immediate sense, anyway.”

                “Your life is worth more than a few decades,” he replied insistently.

                She lifted her chin and met his hard stare. “I’m sorry Brynn,” she murmured, genuine though undeterred. “But I just don’t see it that way.”

                A knock on the door startled them both. His visible twitch spoke of how riled up Brynn was. Looking around him, Lina raised a brow as Marina slipped halfway into the room. “They won’t wait, will they?” she asked.

The woman shook her head.

“It’s all right,” she sighed, smoothing her skirts. “We’re finished here.”

                Brynn’s serious expression grew more so. “With respect, your Royal Highness, I –”

“Not a word of this to anyone,” Lina interrupted, pointing a finger at him. “Especially Sarah. If she asks, you tell her there’s no longer anything for her to worry about.”

“I can’t –

“You can and you will, Brynn Fel Vaden. I am the Princess, your future Queen, and by the Fates’ design I want your promise as a loyal subject that you won’t say a word of this to Sarah.”

“Lina –”

She tapped him square in the chest, fevered with urgency. “Swear to me, Brynn.”

Later, after everything that followed, Lina would look back on that moment and realise she’d probably left him no choice.

 


	21. Sunshine on the Wasteland (Part Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we can all agree I'm the worst at updating. But here we are, at the final chapter...I don't know what I feel! This story has been my life for the last year. No matter how busy I've been these characters have lived inside my mind and begged to be written about. When The Awful Thing happened with David, this story was a refuge. But I feel that it's time to end it now, the loose ends have been tied, the plot run its course. There will be one-offs and spin-offs from me in the future, related to the universe I've developed here. Whenever I feel that I've missed something in this story I will probably flesh it out in a little one-off. I don't think I'll ever want to stop writing these characters and the ones I created. I'm aware that my lack of updates has probably lost me a few followers, but I don't mind. Thankyou to everyone who ever gave me a good word, and who challenged my ideas and pushed me to constantly rework my chapters. I feel like a better writer for having been through this, and I've talked with some wonderful people because of this fandom. You are all loved. xxx  
> P.S: If you want to look me up on facebook, feel free. I've started selling some of my artwork as prints/bags/jewelry, a lot of which is Bowie related if you happen to feel like having a look. Not trying to sell you anything. Just wanting to share the things I love in my life. :) My name is Tonia Nash on facebook.

 

**Sunshine on the Wasteland: Part Two**

 

Sarah could still appreciate the beauty of the Drop, even if she _had_ been pushed right over the edge of it. Mystic and silent as ever, the water thrashed against the rocks on its journey down. The sun shone brilliantly on the spray, turning it luminescent, while a flock of distant birds broke the skyline over the ravine. Cool air swept by without moving her hair an inch. It wasn’t difficult to be swept up by the sight, yet Sarah kept a watchful eye on the man behind her. She might enjoy a pretty view but she wasn’t stupid enough to be complacent.

                Malibar seemed absorbed in his reading anyway, with little interest in her. He’d been scouring those damn books since she’d arrived, only looking up briefly when Idris had brought Sarah in. She didn’t have a watch but she’d guessed twenty minutes or so had passed by since then. This was only her second visit to him and so far he seemed much the same as before: likeable enough, granted she kept her wits about her. There was also his tendency to ramble entire one-sided conversations under his breath. Sometimes she caught words that might’ve been Fae language; others seemed complete gibberish. “You have surprising patience for one with so little time,” he remarked finally from the table inside. His voice carried clear on the motionless wind around them.

                Sarah stood and stretched, readjusting her skirts. She’d taken to Lina’s style, the raggedy bohemian skirts comfortable and cool. Jareth had remarked on the way they ‘swished’ when she walked, but that had nothing to do with the choice. At all.  “Yeah well, I don’t have anything to do today unless a wish is made.”

                He shook his head. “I was referring to your life in general. Humans decay at an alarming rate.” Licking a finger, he marked a page at the corner of an old tome and put it aside.

                She shrugged. There were few ways to react when Fae spoke about her lifespan that way. “Guess we do. Considering that, do you think we could talk about what I came here for?”

                He tilted his severe head to the side, contemplating her with those piercing eyes. “You try to pretend you’re not afraid,” he said curiously.

                She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. He liked to make comments like that quite often. “Of what?”

                “Of the possibility I might wish to experiment with your abilities again.” His gaze flicked over to the waterfall just long enough for her to understand.

                She was quite proud of her ability to remain by the edge after that. “You’ve proven that point already,” she replied, forcibly casual. “Didn’t think you’d need to do it again.”

                “Quite right.” He was suddenly standing right in front of her, close enough that she could see the hundred creases in his skin and the fevered gleam of his eyes. “Though I would also mention that fear is unnecessary. If I’d intended for you to fall again, you’d have already done so.”

                Was it rude to kick an old Fae where it hurt? Probably. Sarah raised her chin to him. “Not without me taking you down with me,” she replied sternly.

                Malibar chuckled, taking her by surprise. Who knew the old Fae had a sense of humour? He must have found it buried somewhere among the waspishness and vague madness. “You wanted to know if you could give your years to Jareth,” he said from his position back at the table. These Fae could move so quickly when they wanted.

                “Yes,” Sarah nodded, joining him on a seat. Her throat was suddenly dry.

                Malibar began sorting books on the table, apparently ignoring her again. “I would wager it cannot be done.”

                Half of her wanted to sigh, the other leap about with joy. “So there’s a _chance_ that I could?”

                “There’s a very great chance that it could be done,” he said slowly, “Though not without an equally great possibility of you dying in the attempt.”

                The sigh won out. It slumped her shoulders and tucked her feet under the stool’s wooden bars. “What makes you think I would die?”

                “Your humanity,” he answered predictably. Like she hadn’t expected _that_ to come up. “No transference in recorded history has ever been successfully reversed. The Fae giving the years has always succumbed to illness shortly after. Lifespans aren’t something to be tossed back and forth; it leaves us dangerously vulnerable the first time. To transfer them again…” he unrolled a span of parchment, scanned it, and re-rolled it. “I doubt a human would survive the act itself.”

                “But you can’t _know_ that,” she pushed desperately. It had been a small hope to begin with, the last possibility left to her. Without it, Jareth was condemned. She was doomed to lose him.

                “You are ignorantly persistent in matters you aren’t familiar with,” Malibar commented.

                “You don’t understand,” Sarah sighed.

                “There’s very little I don’t understand, child.”

                He was probably right, when it came to Fae history and magic and laws. But not in this. There was no point arguing though. Fact was fact. If he didn’t think it could be done, it probably couldn’t be. “Okay, so scratch that. Someone that’s already done it can’t do it again. But a person completely new can, right? Someone who hasn’t done it before?”

                “Of course,” he replied, laying a few books before her in a pile. Then, in his irritating way of knowing before she said anything, he added: “The Princess could perform the act without any danger to herself.”

                “That’s what she asked you about, didn’t she?” Sarah got to her feet and rounded the table to stand beside him. He went on sorting books, apparently uninterested. “You didn’t show her how to do it, did you?”

                “The business of the royals is not mine to discuss.”

                “Oh come on. What else would it have been?”

                “Enough,” he snapped. “You did not come here to gossip about my meetings with princesses. What’s done is done, what happens thereafter is beyond anyone’s control.” Turning away, he mumbled a stream of heated reprimands to himself, slipping in and out of the Fae language. He began rifling through draws in a cabinet behind him, pulling out all sorts of bizarre instruments and casting them aside with disinterest.

                Sarah bit her tongue. She’d forgotten he mightn’t be the most stable person to annoy. There was too much to learn from him yet that she could afford to piss him off. “You’re right,” she conceded. Brynn would just have to do his best with talking to Lina, and that was all there was to it. “So this magic stuff then…where do I start?”

                “With this.” Malibar turned swiftly and grabbed Sarah’s hand, thrusting into her grip whatever it was he’d been searching for.

                It was a flower bud made of stone, cool and smooth, that fit snugly in her palm. It shimmered faintly though there was little light for the time of day. “What is it?”

                “A channelling stone. We give them to children to practice with,” he explained. “It helps to concentrate on something tangible when first beginning a relationship with magic. You must try to make it bloom.”

                Sarah frowned, tossing the thing between her hands, feeling the solid weight. It was definitely one hard piece, and yet… “Show me how?” Nothing was ever what it seemed. No point in asking him just how the hell she was meant to make stone bloom.

                Malibar’s mouth twitched at the corner, a hint of a smile. It was so unusual a look from him that at first Sarah didn’t notice what was in her outstretched palm. When he turned his amused gaze toward it she followed, grinning with delight. A shimmering flower now sat curled in her hand, indigo like the night and real as any spring blossom. Its petals were soft as silk but the base was prickly with delicate thorns.

                “It will appear differently according to who opens it and the effort you put in,” Malibar told her.

                “Cool trick,” Sarah murmured, holding the flower carefully to avoid the thorns. “But I didn’t see how you did it.”

                “You can never see it done,” he replied, touching the flower with just one finger. It curled in on itself and was stone in the blink of an eye. “You weave the flows by instinct, feel your way through. Magic is blinding. It reduces you to faith in the senses. You need to learn how to move while blind.”

                “But you’ll teach me how to _start_ doing that, right? Otherwise I’m totally lost here.” Curious, she touched the stone bud as Malibar had and pictured a flower. Nothing happened. She frowned.

                “You will come to me once a week,” he instructed her, turning to sort through books on the table once more. “I will see you started on your way. One day, the magic will be as natural as breathing to you.”

                “And in the meantime…?” She raised a brow.

                “You will take these with you.” A pile of books slid unbidden towards her. “Study them.”

                Sarah examined the covers of the books. They frayed at the edges, gilded with silver and feint glitter. Disappointingly, they were all written in Fae language. “I can’t read these,” she told him sullenly.

                “I take it you spend quite a bit of time with the little prince,” he said pointedly.

                “Who, Jareth? Oh. Right.” She was sure Jareth would just love the idea of being appointed her teacher. He’d have some smart comments about behaviour and discipline, no doubt. A thought struck her. “Why doesn’t your language translate for me? I can understand people from all over the world when they run my Labyrinth, but I need Fae things translated for me.”

                “Above languages will bleed into understandable form when in the Domain,” Malibar told her.

                “So you’re speaking English now, right? I can understand you.”

                He made a vague gesture with his hands. “Yes and no. I am not speaking English, but you are not speaking Fae.”

                “So what _are_ we talking in?”

                “The Third Voice. There is a universal language that exists between every world. It has always been there. Those moments in the Above between humans, when you understand one another without words? That stems from the Third Voice.”

                “But then why doesn’t that translate Fae when I’m here?”

                “You are in _our_ world. Why should we alter ourselves for you?”

                That seemed a petty, marginalising answer to her, but she resisted the urge to comment. That was probably an argument for another day. Time was never on her side. “So what are these about, anyway?” She gestured at the books.

                “They are parents’ manuals for teaching children how to adapt to their magic. In our very early years we struggle with the concepts of instinctual casting. The books will instruct you on technique.”

                “So they’re My First Spell books? Like A is for Abracadabra and that sort of thing?” She flicked through one at random but found not a single picture, just unreadable script.

                Malibar just blinked at her, clearly not understanding the references. “If you work from those manuals you should find the visions subsiding.”

                “This is crazy,” she murmured, shaking her head in disbelief. It hadn’t occurred to her until that moment just what was happening. The visions had seemed an illness to her for a while now, something she longed to be cured of. Her younger self would have been ecstatic about being given homework on how to learn magic. But mostly she was just relieved. If this worked, she’d never have to see Jareth’s future again. Still, a tiny part of the old Sarah made her examine her hands, and imagine them bristling with lights and fire and power. She managed a curious smile. _I wonder what I’ll be capable of._

                “Be sure to pace yourself,” Malibar told her sternly. He seemed to like plucking the thoughts right out of her head. “You are a human with Fae powers. There is no way of guessing your strengths and limitations.”

                “Of course,” Sarah nodded emphatically. “It’d be out of character if I could do something without great personal risk.”

                “Precisely,” the old Fae agreed.

                Sarah didn’t think he quite grasped the sarcasm in her voice.

 

* * *

 

 

A thorny indigo blossom sat on the desk beside him. He’d found another channelling stone after the girl had left. Sharp, that Sarah Williams was, and a little surprising, if not quite remarkable. Malibar suspected she might prove to be an interesting project in the years to come. He also suspected she would reject any notions of being regarded as such. A student, she might’ve preferred to be called.

A gentle gust of wind knocked the flower about – that happened from time to time, the wind having a momentary effect on the world – he caught the blossom deftly in his palm and studied it. They were such simple tools, the stones. So insignificant in the world of magic he knew at his age. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to turn the flower back to stone. Vague memories stirred in him as he stroked a dark petal, but blurry and indistinct they remained. He was not bothered by having lost recollections from such early years. Had he ever struggled so with the blindness, needed such physical guidance to weave flows? It seemed impossible to him now, when he could turn the blossom to cinders without blinking. But there must have been a time when he had. Everyone had to start somewhere.

One of the thorns caught at his skin as he lay the blossom on the table. He bled a little, surprisingly. Or perhaps not so. At his age, the facets of Fae strength could fail. It was inevitable. But then again everything was.

                He had just gotten comfortable in his chair for instance, when there was a knock on the door. Of course his reading would be interrupted. He called for Idris to answer it, but received no reply. Remembering she was out for the evening, Malibar sighed. With a grumble he got to his feet and went to the door. It was likely to be the girl again, having forgotten something in her haste to leave. Another wish had been made, she’d said. She’d have to learn to slow down or she’d be two hundred before she knew it.

                He swept aside the curtain at the door, finding an unfamiliar face waiting patiently before him. “Who are you?” he demanded gruffly. “What do you want?”

                “I need you to teach me about transference, Sir.”

                Malibar studied the stranger intently. The Williams girl had spread that term about like a wildfire. He stepped aside. “You’d best come in then.”

 

* * *

 

 

Learning how to use magic was difficult. But even more so, Sarah decided, when your teacher acted like a sex-starved teenager with the attention span of a gnat. Which she wouldn’t have minded any other time, except that they’d been practicing for over an hour without any result. She didn’t blame him for growing restless, exactly, but she’d expected him to last a little longer than that.

                “Eyes up here, Jareth. Tell me what I’m doing wrong. It’s not working.”

                With visible effort, he brought his attention back to her face. “For starters you’re trying too hard, precious.”

                “So I’m just supposed to stand here and do nothing?”

                “That’s not quite what I meant either.”

                “I feel ridiculous.” The channelling stone lay cold and useless in her outstretched palm, mocking her pitiable attempts to open the bud.

                “Perhaps we should take a break, hmm?”

                She wasn’t entirely blameless when it came to stirring him up, but how was she supposed to resist such temptation? Jareth was more tights and chest than anything else today, dressed like that, and sat cross legged on the library table reading Fae books to her in a low voice. He was talking about things like ‘inner rhythm’ and ‘mindfulness’ and damn it if it didn’t just do things to her insides. He shifted to the edge of the table, hanging his legs down so that Sarah fit nicely between them. When his mouth was deliciously in reach, he traced the shell of her ear with a finger and she almost decided to hell with the lesson.

                Almost. With a frustrated groan Sarah turned her face away. “Jareth, _one_ of us needs to have some self-control,” she groaned. “I thought maybe you could do that for a change. Especially since _you’re_ supposed to be my teacher.”

                “Is this not what teachers do?” Jareth said facetiously. “I’ve been doing it wrong all these years.” He seemed to be measuring the space between them and apparently found it unacceptable.

                “Ha. Funny. Seriously, I need you to focus. Don’t let me mess around.”

                He arched a scarred brow, fingers leaving her waist to tap a rhythm against the tabletop. “Are you suggesting I take a more… _disciplined_ …approach to your lessons, precious?”

                She rolled her eyes. No good would come of entertaining that comment. “And no more pet names while I’m practicing. It’s cute and distracting.”

                “Yes ma’am. I thought I was the one meant to be giving orders here?”

                “Direction, Jareth. Guidance. Not orders.”

                “Ah. I see. Well then,” he clapped his hands together, jumping from the table. “Shall we make a proper go of it?”

                Another hour later, blindfolded (she’d had to viciously stamp down any ideas he got from _that_ ), Sarah was deep in a state of meditation when the stone turned hot in her hand. She dropped it with a cry of surprise and pain.

                “Are you all right?” asked Jareth, getting to his feet.

                Sarah tugged off her blindfold and stared at the stone on the floor, beaming. It hadn’t bloomed but it was something at least. “I did it!” she cried excitedly, while Jareth inspected her hand. There was a red mark, but nothing serious. She was too proud to care anyway.

                “Well done,” he commended with a smile. He collected the stone from the floor, rolling it between his fingers. “I thought the blindfold would do the trick.”

                “That was so cool.” Sarah plucked it from his hand, feeling its residual warmth. _She_ had done that. With _magic_. “Let’s try again.”

                She knew that he might’ve preferred to do some reading, or take a break and walk together. Instead he nodded, planting a kiss against her nose before replacing the blindfold over her eyes. “Practice makes perfect, love.”

                “Hey. One little success doesn’t mean the nicknames can come back.”

                She could hear his smile without seeing a thing.

 

* * *

 

 

Sarah was a force to be reckoned with in the kitchen. He’d never had the opportunity to witness it before; their usual meals were either pre-pared, conjured or thrown together. This was a side of her he hadn’t seen before. Sarah the Chef, Sarah the Dinner Host, was a daunting figure. She moved through the kitchen with furious intent, stirring things here and turning things there. It seemed she had six pairs of hands – there was _far_ too much happening in the freshly cleaned kitchen that one person could handle. Yet Jareth could smell nothing burning – the air was thick with the juicy scents of roasting, sautéing, simmering. Something hissed as she laid it artfully into a roaring pan over the stove and threw a sprig of herbs over the top. An impressed smirk settled on him. She didn’t even seem to realise he was there, being so caught up in her frantic cooking. Her haste was understandable – dinner was in a few hours, with rather important guests, and who knew when a wish would take her away?

                _“A dinner party? For me?” Lina beamed. “She doesn’t have to do that.”_

_“She wants to,” Jareth assured her. “She says she wants to do something normal. Something humans do. I think she’s starting to feel a little homesick, strong as she is.”_

_His sister nodded in understanding, scribbling furiously at the papers on her desk. He wished she had more of a talent for playing with time, watching her work so hard. Couldn’t one of the Councillors slow things down for her? Wasn’t that the point of them, to help? Ha. That’s what **they** thought they were doing, most of the time._

_“I’m supposed to dine with the Council,” Lina went on. “They won’t like it if I go against custom.”_

_“All the more reason to do it, I say,” Jareth replied with a smirk. “Though Sarah has also requested that I officially invite them too. She doesn’t want to cause trouble, if you can believe it.”_

_Lina laughed, a sound like bell chimes in the wind. “Very well. Why not? Tomorrow is my last night as Princess before the coronation. Tell Sarah I’d be delighted to dine with the Goblin Queen.”_

                He contented himself with watching Sarah for a few moments. Deeply engrossed in her tasks, she flowed from pot to pot with an easy grace borne of experience. She’d tied up the length of her bulky skirt into a knot to keep her feet clear; it flashed her tanned thighs on occasion. She’d pulled her hair into a scruffy bun at the nape of her neck. She reminded him of some beautiful gypsy, swishing and swaying and flushed with purposeful heat. His affection knew no bounds; it spread within him like a warm glow and pooled in the pit of his stomach. Her existence was a marvel. How had he ever gotten so lucky as to find her? She dipped a finger into a bowl, tasting something with a satisfied smile, and _by the Fates’ design_ it was more than affection pooling in him.

“It’s safer to stay out of her way, if you ask me.”

                Jareth hadn’t noticed Wick sitting at the wooden table, peeling carrots. His smirk vanished with disappointment, but not with any ill-intended feelings for the Elf. Watching Sarah was doing things to him. Things he’d like to share with her, but couldn’t if they had company. Still. Wick didn’t deserve the frustrated frown he’d been about to deliver. Smoothing it into a kindly smile, Jareth eyed the carrots and realised why they were bothering him. “You’re peeling them by hand?” he enquired.

                Wick shrugged. “Apparently Sarah wants to do it ‘properly’, whatever that means. No magic allowed. Except to conjure the supplies.”

                “That’s absurd,” Jareth replied with a shake of his head. Did all humans prepare things that way? “Magic would save her hours of toil and labour –”

                “Is that mutinous talk I here in my kitchen?” Sarah appeared before him, blowing stray hair from her face, mixing something in a large silver bowl. “Are you questioning my authority over here?”

                “Not at all love,” he replied warmly, reaching out to wipe flour from her cheek. “I was just questioning your methods.”

                She grinned at him, for all her mock severity and harried expression. “I don’t need magic. I need more hands.”

                Behind him, the Elf snickered.

                “What?” Jareth asked him, but turning back to Sarah he understood. “Oh. You wish to recruit me?” He remembered his brief stint in the Above and his failed attempts at cooking. “I’m not sure I’d be much help to you.”

                “I disagree. Wait here.” She set the bowl down and disappeared into the pantry.

                While she was gone, Jareth inspected the contents of the bowl. It was a strawberry compote, still bubbling from the stove. The smell was inexcusably enticing. It conjured images of licking the mix right off her stomach. Without such options readily available, he contented himself with peeling off a glove and dipping a finger into the sauce.

                “Hey!” Sarah smacked his hand away. She juggled a chopping board, a sheathed knife and a bag of onions under her free arm. “There’ll be no taste testing in my kitchen. Ask Wick, he’ll tell you.”

                “No taste testing in her kitchen,” Wick recited, barely suppressing a chuckle at Jareth’s glare. “She banished Hoggle an hour ago for trying the brandy, and Didymus before that.”

                “What did the Fox Dog try to nibble away at?” asked Jareth mildly.

                “Nothing,” Sarah told him. “He used my potatoes for target practice. Now.” She thrust the items into his arms. “Anybody can chop onions; magic or no. Get to it.”

                Unable to decide if he was offended or aroused, Jareth took a seat across from Wick and emptied the bag before him. “Where’s the other one? The big fellow.”

                “Ludo? He’s too big to not be in her way. Took it upon himself to just steer clear from the start.”

                “How wise of him.”

                “Mmm.”

                The conversation died after that. He hadn’t had many experiences with Wick, apart from whenever Sarah was involved or that awful time Jareth had physically threatened the Elf. His mind chose that awkward moment to replay the scene for him, making him cringe. He glanced at Wick and wondered if he was recalling the same thing. Deciding silence would be best, Jareth concentrated on his task. Peeling the onions was easy – a matter of slicing the ends and working from there. Chopping them after that was something of a challenge. His eyes _burned._ They watered within seconds of his first slice, stinging without reprieve. In a moment of poor judgement, he pressed his fists to his face, seeking relief. That was a mistake. The burn magnified, leaving him blurry-eyed and gasping like a fool.

                “Here,” came Wick’s voice from his shoulder. He pressed a wet cloth to Jareth’s eyes, soothing the sting immediately.

                Jareth sat there holding the cloth to his face, happy to hide see his flushed complexion. It had never bothered him that he didn’t have these skills before. He’d never needed them, not in a world that used magic for everything. But watching Sarah in action left him feeling…a soft type of jealousy. Physical skills were different from magical. He had his own talents, granted, but not in this. She’d have to teach him how she did it all.

                “Thank you,” he murmured to Wick, who suggested mildly that he should rinse the onions before cutting them further. It would wash away the burning odour. He did so, fastidiously ignoring Sarah’s giggles from the corner, and returned to the table determinedly. The Elf hadn’t laughed once, which made Jareth realise he actually quite liked him. It said something about a person who could offer help to someone who’d once threatened them. Instead of silence then, they worked companionably together. They shared appreciations for what could be done with magic that couldn’t be achieved by hand. They smiled over which of the Councillors would attend and just how their buttons could be pushed. When Sarah came to check on them they were long finished working but had spent the time conversing instead.

                “You’re no good to me if you’re just going to joke around,” Sarah teased them, her demeanour noticeably softer than before. “Wick, could you go see how Ludo’s doing cleaning the dining room? Some of the stuff up there is a bit delicate for his big paws.”

                “Of course.” The Elf got to his feet, sharing a smile with her and a nod with Jareth, before vanishing.

                “You two got along okay,” she commented, collecting the fruits of their labour. “I wasn’t sure, considering you –”

                “Believe me, I need no reminders,” Jareth cut in, gathering the scraps together. “But yes, I rather think we’ve reached a common ground.”

                “Now if you can just do the same with Brynn...”

                Jareth groaned. “Don’t push your luck, love.” Scraps disposed of, he washed his hands in the sink.

                Sarah was adding the onions to a pan, steam hissing and oil spitting. Abruptly, she burst out with another chuckle.

                He had the feeling it was directed at him. “What?” he asked flatly.

                “Rubbing your eyes…” she shook her head, giggling, stirring the pan. “I never thought you’d be so hopeless in a kitchen.”

                Her frantic haste seemed to have lessened; they were alone. Jareth seized his opportunity, moving to gently squeeze her waist. “I’m skilled with my hands in other pursuits, wouldn’t you agree?” he murmured.

                She turned the heat down on the food and turned in his grasp, cupping his face between her fingers. To his annoyance, she laughed again. “Your eyes are bloodshot, onion boy. You look like a stoner,” she chuckled.

                “A what?” he asked vaguely, distracted by her proximity, the sheen of sweat beading on her brow. Things were…pooling inside him again.

                Turning back to the stove, she reached for the wooden spoon. He slapped his hand down over hers, pinning it to the benchtop. “Come on Jareth, I’ve got a dinner to cook,” she murmured. The lack of conviction let him know he was winning.

                “Should have thought of that before you mocked me so.” He pressed his hips forward, trapping her against the stove.

                She shivered at his breath on her neck. “But I need to keep you in line, don’t I? Wouldn’t want that ego staging a big return.”

                He ignored that, one hand twisted with hers, the other trailing up the side of her breast to her throat. “I appreciate the practicality of this,” he tugged at the bun at her neck, “But I prefer your hair down, you know.” One sharp pull and the black flowed over his hand and down her back.

                “Seriously Jareth, I’m going to catch fire –”

                “That good, am I love?”

                “No you idiot, the stove – my hair!”

                Eyes wide, Jareth peered over Sarah’s shoulder. She was dangerously close to the flames beneath the pan. He swore softly, standing back so she could move. “Are you all right?”

                She was perfectly fine. She was bloody laughing again. “You have _no_ kitchen sense at all, do you? Listen to the head chef. Wash the onions first. Don’t crush your girlfriend against open flames.”

                This time he was determined not to be bested. “I would cease that laughter if I were you,” he growled.

                “Oh yeah?” she raised a brow, folding her arms. “Or what – hey –”

                He pinned her against the bench this time, void of hazards, trapping her hands beneath his. Leaning in, he pressed his mouth to the shell of her ear. “Or I’ll have to find something else for your mouth to do.” Her shudder was deeply satisfying. “That being said, I would like once again to boast the skills I possess with my hands. Let it never be said I pass up opportunities to demonstrate.”

                “You mean show off,” Sarah reiterated in a breathless whisper as he lifted her onto the bench.

                “You say tomato, love…”

                She was very definitely no longer laughing at him. However, after a few blissful moments of ravaging kisses she broke off, panting. “The onions,” she breathed. “Have – to turn off the –”

                “Don’t bloody care,” he growled, capturing her mouth again, slipping a hand up her skirt.

                They burnt the onions.

 

* * *

 

 

It could just have been her imagination. She tended to let that get the better of her sometimes. Nobody else seemed to notice anything beyond two people who weren’t on familiar terms. Sarah couldn’t help reading into the lack of engagement between Brynn and Lina. Was there a hint of tension between them, or was it just awkwardness? Did the Fae even _feel_ awkward around people they didn’t know very well? She had to force herself not to stare at them, desperate for a clue as to what had gone on between them. It shouldn’t have mattered; Brynn had told her there was ‘no longer anything to worry about’, if that was meant to be reassuring. Still, Sarah couldn’t trust any of them enough to leave Jareth alone with Lina. She loved the woman, but what if she decided to act anyway, no matter what she might have said to Brynn?

                A booted foot kicked her shin surreptitiously, breaking her focus on the pair beside her. Wick was the only other person she’d told about what was going on with Lina. He was taking it upon himself to distract Sarah from worrying too much. She gave him a look somewhere between smile and frown, something like gratitude and irritation mixed together, but refocused her attention elsewhere.

Despite that small doubt niggling at her, the evening was going well. The dining hall in the Castle had been beautifully transformed by her friends, cleared of mess and dust and nasty lurking goblins. The table had been polished to a fine sheen by Wick, and more chairs collected to seat all the guests. A gorgeous array of candles had been scattered along the length of the table, bathing everyone in gentle light. Music was playing somewhere in the background, violins accompanied by a lady’s siren song. Sarah suspected a little magic on Wick’s part there, as it seemed to come from no definable source. Painfully structured dinners with Karen and her father had left her with little desire for three course meals, thus the food filled most of the table in its entirety. Nobody could grasp her meaning of the word smorgasbord, but after initial confusion they embraced the idea of tucking into everything as they desired it.

It was a lot of food for a surprisingly large amount of people. There was Jareth, of course, seated between Sarah and Hoggle, with Didymus on a stack of cushions so he could reach the table and Ludo large enough to sit without a chair, to the left. Across from them sat Wick and his cousins, Tork, Brax and Rade, who seemed unable to believe they were guests at the dinner and not serving. To her right sat Lina, gracious and light-eyed, laughing at something Wick had said and twirling the stem of her wineglass. Next to her was Brynn, regal and dignified even when struggling with a slippery piece of potato on his spoon. He was deep in conversation with Dovail, the navy-clad twin to silvery Marina, who looked as if she’d had to drag her brother along and was tired from the journey. Sarah was glad she’d had enough food for them all, thankful that nothing else had burned during her brief distraction with Jareth.

Flushing at the memory of his hands and his hot mouth, she didn’t hear Lina’s question until Wick gave her leg another kick. Apparently he thought she was worrying again. Suppressing the urge to glare, she rubbed her shin under the table and turned to Lina. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that. What did you say?”

“Where did you learn to cook like this?” Lina asked, waving a fork for emphasis. “It’s all so _divine_.”

                “My mother,” Sarah blushed proudly. “She used to have a lot of dinner parties with her showbiz friends. When it was my weekend with her we’d spend the day cooking up fancy meals.”

                Lina frowned in confusion. “May I ask what ‘showbiz’ means?”

                “Oh, sorry. My mother is a stage performer on Broad – on a, ah, famous strip of land where people do entertaining. You know, plays and musicals and things. It’s called showbiz. As in, the business of putting on a good show for people.”

                “Sounds like a right waste o’ time and energy if yer ask me,” Hoggle announced, deep into his wine and dinner. He’d been self-aware at first of the Council members and the Princess sitting at the same table as him. Enough time had passed, and perhaps enough liquid courage, that he was feeling more confident.

                “I think it sounds delightful,” Lina replied, smiling wryly as Hoggle jumped to agree. Maybe not completely self-confident just yet. “But can you explain something else to me Sarah? What do you mean by ‘your weekend’ with your mother?”

                “Well, my parents divorced when I was a kid,” Sarah explained easily. She’d told people so often that it didn’t bother her anymore. “So I used to spend alternating weekends at their separate houses.”

                “Divorce is a word humans use when they don’t stay married to each other,” Jareth explained, predicting his sister’s question without looking up from his plate. “They separate and leave sweet little black haired sprites to crawl into fairy-tales in search of emotional comfort.”

                Sarah stared at him, slicing his chicken with precision, apparently unaffected by the conversation. She knew better. “I grew up just fine,” she murmured, laying a hand on his arm. “I wouldn’t be who I am today if all those things hadn’t happened around me.”

                “That’s not how you felt at fifteen,” he replied just as quietly, no longer touching his food. “I saw what you wanted, the things you dreamed of. Your family whole and together –”

                “That was ten years ago,” she cut in gently. “I was a kid. Of course that’s what I wanted. But they were so unhappy…it wouldn’t have been fair for them to stay together for my sake.”

                Jareth studied her face, reading, seeking honesty. His expression was intense, eyes focused solely on her, voice a serious whisper that took her by surprise: “Our children would never have to worry about that.”

                _Fuck_ , he took her breath away. And not in a fleeting, momentary I-can-see-your-collarbone-through-that-shirt-and-want-to-bite-it kind of way. In an I-love-you-so-fucking-much-it-paralyses-me way. She would have kissed him then if she could move, would have crawled into his lap and picked up where they’d left off in the kitchen before the smoke had gotten to them. As it was, with a room full of people who seemed to have carried on conversation without her, Sarah took his hand and gripped it tightly in her lap. Flashing his sharp teeth in a tender smile, Jareth draped an arm over the back of her chair, running a thumb down her spine every so often. He’d worn his open-throated shirt for her sake just as she’d worn the backless dress for his.

                His touch wasn’t the only thing making her skin prickle, though. A quick glance in Brynn’s direction revealed him studying them intently. Upon being caught out, he became very interested in his food. Weird.

                “Sarah,” Wick called worriedly from across the table. “Why would anyone want to do that?”

                She blinked in confusion. “Do what?”

                “Separate. Abandon their family,” Lina put in, her concerned expression mirroring the Elf’s.

                “Oh.” Sarah shook her head. Jareth’s clarification had left them reeling, apparently. “Divorce doesn’t mean that, exactly. Not all the time. Some people just fall out of love with each other. It happened to my parents, so they decided they were happier living apart and sharing me. Seemed to work better for all of us, so I stopped questioning it a long time ago.”

                Lina was quiet for a while after that, contemplating a world she didn’t understand. Hell, divorce was _nothing_. The tip of the iceberg when it came to the messed up things humans did to each other. Sarah kept this to herself though. There was a determined lightness to Jareth’s sister that Sarah suspected was there because of all the darkness she’d faced. No need to add more grey to her view of the Above.

                The conversation drifted from topic to topic, ebbing and flowing as everyone ate their fill and made their way through the wine. Sarah eased herself back against Jareth’s arm, hazy with contentment, laughing as Didymus used breadsticks to teach swordplay to the Elves. Hoggle engaged Jareth in a debate about who’d really won their latest poker game. Sarah was too busy being surprised that they actually _played_ poker together to hear someone calling her.

                Lina tugged on her elbow, drawing her attention to Marina.

                “Miss Williams,” said the silvery Councillor, voice rich and polite with just hint of pointedness. “I’ve been told you have yet to attend a meeting with the constituencies of the Goblin Realm. I suggest you take interest soon, for the good of your reputation.”

                She had no idea what the woman was talking about. “I – I don’t – what meetings?” Something drew her eyes sharply to her second-in-command. “Brynn, what meetings?”

                The Fae took his time answering. He chewed and swallowed his mouthful of food, washed it down with a sip of wine, laid his fork on his plate. Then told her matter-of-factly, without any preamble: “I’ve been attending the necessary audiences on your behalf, to give you time to become accustomed to your new role.”

                Stunned, Sarah couldn’t help but flounder a little. Nobody had told her about that. “How – how _many_ ‘necessary audiences’? What have I missed?”

                “Trivial affairs, I assure you. A few small meetings with local councils to satisfy them until you are ready.”

                “An interesting move to make without your superior’s consent,” remarked Dovail, sipping his wine and looking at Brynn sternly. Not that that meant anything. The Fae never seemed to look anything _but_ stern.

                Ignoring the comment, Sarah addressed Brynn directly. “Who said you could do that?”

                In response his gaze flicked just beyond her and she rolled her eyes, turning to Jareth. Of course he had something to do with it.

He’d obviously caught wind of the conversation and looked, surprisingly, ready to pick a fight. With her? “Tell them all how well you’ve been sleeping, Sarah,” he said quietly, slowly. “Think back over the last few days and tell me how you might’ve had the time and energy for unimportant meetings.” 

Sarah’s glare was equally hard as his, chin just as high, but only for a moment. He was totally right, of course. There was no way she’d have had the strength to bother with politics after the last week.

                When she said nothing, he went on. “I will not make decisions for you, as you’ve asked of me before. But nor will I put strain on you when I _know_ it isn’t necessary. You don’t have to do everything yourself.”

                “ _You_ did,” Sarah muttered stubbornly.

                “It was the only choice left to me after I’d pushed everyone away. You have a handful of good people here who will help you in all this. I suggest you let them.”

                Didymus was still toying with the Elves while Ludo and Hoggle watched enthusiastically. Most of the attention on her was Fae in nature, stoic and measured, even on Lina’s face. 

                “I wouldn’t be too upset, Sarah,” she told her simply. “You haven’t been officially announced yet. It hasn’t been strictly necessary for you to see people. Not quite at the moment anyway.”

                Reluctantly, Sarah agreed. “All right Brynn, you’re spared my stubborn rant.” Then, as an afterthought: “Thanks for looking out for me.”

                The Fae shrugged loosely. The wine was softening him up nicely. “I simply did what Jareth asked.”

                Grinning, Sarah leant back into Jareth’s arm again. “I’ll make friends of you two yet,” she muttered.  “So when _do_ I have to start going to all these things?”

                “Once my dear sister is inaugurated, you will be named Queen of the Labyrinth,” Jareth told her, tension finally easing in him now that she wasn’t going to shout. “From then on, you’ll have any number of droll affairs to attend.”

                An idea occurred to her, making her grin again. “Well then, you’ll be coming along with me, won’t you?”

                Marina and Dovail spoke over the top of each other:

                “I don’t think that’s wise –”

                “His history stands against him –”

                Sarah threw a hand up and to her total surprise, they quietened. If only just, and with a shared unhappy look. “I know absolutely nothing about Domain politics and running a Goblin Realm. The maze stuff I can work out, but the rest of it? I think Jareth has more than enough experience with that. The only reason he’s not still King is because he let me distract him. I’m taking him with me and that’s that.” She beamed at Jareth, raising her glass. “I’m hiring you as my advisor. What do you think?”

                Jareth pretended to consider the notion. “Does it pay well?”

                “No idea. Probably not. You in?”

                He raised his glass to hers. “I’d be delighted, precious.”

                “Excellent. Then I’m making a toast before dessert.” She stood with only a little sway, the wine rushing to her head. Tapping a spoon against her glass, she called everyone’s attention. “This is how they do it in the movies, right?” Blank expressions surrounded her. “Oh, why am I asking any of you – never mind.” She swept her gaze over them all, taking note of the cheeky glint in Didymus’ eye and the curious gleam in Dovail’s, the proud expression on Lina’s face and the not-so-blank-for-once look on Brynn’s. “To the friends who’ve helped me get this far, even when I’ve been a total pain. To my fellow Queen-to-be, who hasn’t once made me feel like anything less than a sister. To my second-in-command, who acts like a stone while somehow also being my rock.” She settled a hand on Jareth’s shoulder, smiling down at him. “To you and your persistent crush. Who’d have thought stalking could make wonders happen?” He put his hand over hers and grinned wryly, beautifully sombre. “To the big changes and little moments ahead of us all. To...people coming together, finding things lost for too long, wonderfully weird friendships…and to the end of life as we know it.”

                They raised their glasses and toasted to the future.

 

* * *

 

 

It was rudely early in the morning to be battling it out with inadequate makeup tools. Sure, she’d been awake long enough to have showered and eaten. That didn’t mean she was conscious enough to deal with clumping mascara. Patience was never her forte when it came to cosmetics. In that respect, Sarah thought she’d probably do better facing the hordes this morning. She was only bothering because Lina had specifically invited her to the coronation. It seemed the least she could do was attend _not_ looking like something the goblins had dragged in.

                “I wish I could blame Jareth,” she muttered, carefully attempting the eyeliner. “Him and his ‘everything’s better with glitter’ motto.”

                “And yer don’t?” Hoggle asked from his position on her bedroom rug. He’d taken a few books on gardening from the library and was flicking through them.

                “Please,” Sarah snorted. “He wouldn’t care if I showed up wearing _nothing_. In fact, he’d probably prefer it.” She swapped eyeliner for lipstick, suppressing the urge to glower. “Not that I’d give him any such gift after the way he carried on this morning. You know he still doesn’t think I should go, even though his own sister sent the invite?”

                It was Hoggle’s turn to snort. “As if you’d listen to him anyway.”

                “I know, right? He said there’s enough going on today without adding my presence into the mix. I get that he might be nervous about Lina’s big day, but that’s no reason to try cutting me out of it to make things easier. I want to see her with that crown. It’s important. Plus, it’s already been put out there that the new Goblin Queen is human. So what’s the point in hiding?”

                “An’ what did his Highness have to say to that?”

                “Nothing. I think he’s still trying to come up with an argument.” Grinning, she started brushing out her hair. “So I’d steer clear of him if I were you. I think I saw a vein popping on his temple at breakfast.”

                “Hoggle don’t need tellin’ twice,” he replied. “But just you watch yerself around them nobles, Sarah. Funny type, they are.”

                “Thanks, Hoggle. I know.” She set down her brush and turned to him, hands dramatically framing her face. “Well?”

                “Well what?”

                “How do I look?” she asked exasperatedly.

                “How should I know?” Hoggle shrugged. “Humans all look the same to me.” He went back to perusing his books.

                Rolling her eyes, Sarah went to the bed and gathered up her favourite dress. It was the one Jareth had made her for the Harvest, emerald and silver and patterned with poetry. “I take it you’re not so blasé about us humans that you can watch me get dressed?”

                “Oh, right.” Hopping to his feet, Hoggle began collecting his books under one arm. “I’ll be off then. Mind if I borrow these? I won’t keep ‘em too long.”

                Sarah shrugged, clinging to the towel she had wrapped around her. “Keep them as long as you like. I’ll see you later. Oh! Try and look angry when you get out of here. Let the nasties think I’ve got you on some stupid errand.”

                Left alone, she shed the towel and slipped into the dress. It was odd to be wearing it again, in such different circumstances to the last time. At the Harvest she’d worried it would be too revealing of the true relationship between her and Jareth. Today she donned it as a direct proclamation of that.

                The difference between then and now seemed obvious, studying her reflection when she was dressed. She looked better without the Fae makeup, without anything to detract from who she was. There was something inherently mature about the woman in the mirror. _It will be fine,_ those eyes told her.

                “They can’t take him away from you this time,” she murmured. There was nothing the Fae could do to them anymore. Jareth had said it himself: he had nothing left to contribute to the Domain, so they couldn’t technically ban his involvement with her. Not for the usual reasons, anyway. She wouldn’t put it past them to think up new ways of denouncing her. But if she let that thought worry her, she’d never leave the Castle. “Come on Sarah. They can’t touch us. You’re fine.” For good measure, she tied Jareth’s pendant around her neck and let it hang for all to see.

                In the entrance hall she found the men waiting in a state of mutual aggravation. With Brynn it was tricky to tell, but she knew the signs: that crimson brow was drawn tightly together, fists bunched behind his back. It might’ve looked like he was just wandering the hall with those careful steps, but Sarah could tell he was pacing. She wasn’t exactly sure what he had to be anxious about, but his pacing did increase a little at the sight of her. Still, he looked good in burnished ebony silks and frilled cuffs. She couldn’t spare too much time for admiration though, when Jareth was standing by.

                Kissed by glitter, he pulsed with effeminate grace and powerful otherworldliness. He was draped in ivory and gilded fawn to emulate Lina’s royal colours. Shimmering knee-high boots engulfed pale tights, which disappeared snugly beneath a snug vest. Silk spilled forth at his wrists and throat, pearlescent, throwing contrast to the deep gold of his coat. His frown and the lazy way he seemed pinned to the wall, glowering, gave him the look of an icy prince. He looked like the man she’d first met as a teenager, the one who’d been frightening and entrancing all at once. Even upset with her he was terrifyingly beautiful, and she was overcome with determination that nothing anyone could do would tear them apart.

                _They can’t touch us._ She would never let them.

 

* * *

 

 

She did like to drive him mad, didn’t she? Jareth couldn’t remember ever being bothered so by other women. But then other women weren’t Sarah Williams, and whose fault was it that he’d sought her so insistently? If catching the wind turned out to be just as maddening as chasing it, then he had no one to blame but himself. She was a _vision_ , draped in that dress he so adored on her. The gown itself mightn’t have been an obvious statement to anyone but himself, but with that pendant around her neck…she may as well have written _I love Jareth_ across her forehead. Which would delight him any other day, except they’d argued about it that very morning.

                “No.” He pushed away from the wall and strode towards her. “Absolutely not, Sarah.” He pointed at the pendant. “Take that off this instant.”

                “Do you see what I put up with, Brynn?” Sarah enquired of the other man, talking as if she’d done nothing wrong. “He’s so rude, isn’t he? Not so much as a ‘you look lovely, precious’.”

                Jareth took hold of her arm and stood close. “You do look lovely,” he told her in a low voice. “So much so that I’d like to rip that pretty little dress right off you. But why the pendant, Sarah?” he demanded. “Must you rub it in everyone’s face?”

                Sarah didn’t try to pull free of his grip, nor did she falter beneath his stern gaze. “You’re damn right I’m rubbing it in some Fae faces.”

                “That much of a conquest am I?” he couldn’t help replying.

                “No but you _are_ an idiot,” she snapped. “You think I’m going to just tag along as your plus one and keep my mouth shut? Jareth, we’re together now. And if any stuffy noble thinks they can change that, or make some smart ass comment – well, let’s just say I’ve had it with people jerking us around.” Her slender fingers rested on the pendant. “This will make it pretty obvious that I don’t give a shit if people know who I am. I figure they’ll be less inclined to start with me than if I just cowered behind you all day.”

                It was difficult to remain frustrated when she was the very image of grace and beauty, that chin turned up as if daring him to challenge her logic. Still, she’d called him an idiot in front of Brynn, and that warranted at least a sharp kiss of reprimand. “You may well be too clever for your own good, precious,” he whispered against her gasping mouth when he was done. “Very well. Keep the pendant. Let’s see what the day has in store for us.”

                “Give me a second,” Sarah told him, sounding just a little less cool than before. “You smudged my lipstick.”

While she busied herself with that, Jareth beckoned Brynn over. “Remember that –”

“I’m responsible for her safety, yes,” the man cut in. “I will keep an ear out for trouble. Although, your lack of magic doesn’t mean you aren’t able to protect her when she needs it.”

Jareth blinked in surprise.

                “Are we ready?” Brynn asked as Sarah re-joined them. “I’ll deliver you both to the royals’ entrance, before –”

                “I still don’t see why you can’t just come with us,” Sarah interrupted, linking arms with him for the transportation. “You were Goblin King too, even if it was just for a little while.”

                “Be that as it may, I possess only a status as a lower noble now. I’ll attend with the others of my rank and then meet you in the grand hall after the ceremony.”

                Still curious of the man, Jareth nodded in silence and took his arm, holding Sarah’s hand tightly as they whirled away.

                There was a private reception hall for members of the royal family and high ranking Councillors. Brynn delivered them outside this hall and then disappeared promptly. It was inappropriate for him to stay, even if they’d had no way of getting there without him. Jareth would have thanked him for the help, had he stuck around. As it was, he mentally prepared himself for the day ahead and did his best to see Sarah equally ready.

                “Bow to no one,” he instructed her. “Much as they might think of themselves, my cousins and elders are no more than blood relations. They aren’t Kings or Queens, and your deference to them will only lower you in their eyes.”

                “But they’re royalty, aren’t they? They’re related to you, and you’re the Prince, so…”

                “You are the soon-to-be Goblin _Queen_ , Sarah. Technically speaking, you rank higher than most of them even now. Trust me. Do. Not. Bow.”

                She nodded, looking nervous for a moment. He caught the hand she was smoothing down her dress with. “You’ll do fine, love. You’ve faced much worse than the people on the other side of those doors.”

                Her smile was tight but she touched the pendant with her free hand, squaring her shoulders, and pulled him into the hall.

 

* * *

 

 

For a second Sarah thought she might get through the day without much notice. There definitely didn’t seem to be much interest in newcomers, as everyone was deep in conversation with each other. It gave her a moment to assess the situation: forty-odd Fae, all dressed to the nines in royal garb and sipping wine at their leisure. Faint music played without a source, something with strings and woodwind instruments, while Elves bobbed through the crowd offering refreshments. Everything was bedecked in flowers and vines, infusing the air with that cloying floral perfume that itched Sarah’s throat.

She had just enough time to note all this, forcing her hand to relax in the crook of Jareth’s elbow, when the murmurs started. Over the music played a different kind of tune: the whispers of judgement. As Jareth led her into the fray, emanating fierce protectiveness with every step, she felt stares falling directly on her pendant. A flushed heat crept its way up her chest, but Sarah refused to look cowed. Toying with the piece around her neck as if unaffected, she smiled and nodded at the people they passed. Some glared at her in return, while others schooled their faces into carefully blank expressions. One woman actually snickered into her hand, and that’s when Sarah found herself resisting the urge to laugh.

“Something funny?” Jareth enquired, leading her to a small group of pale-haired men and women.

                “It’s just like high school. Like I’m the weird exchange student and I’ve turned up at the prom with the quarterback.”

                “I have…no idea what you’re talking about.”

                “It’s okay. Just something silly.” But another thing she noticed was that they weren’t just looking at _her_ with their noses in the air. Their appraising stares and curt expressions fell just as often on Jareth. And she realised how far he must have fallen in their eyes, giving up all his Fae traits to be with a human, endangering his people, betraying them. No more was he the esteemed Prince of the Domain. Now he was the weird kid too. She tightened her grip on his elbow. “I love you,” she whispered to him.

                Faltering, surprised, Jareth smiled at her in confusion. “And I you, precious.”

                “Okay. Let’s get this over with. Introduce me to your family.”

 

* * *

 

 

The key to navigating conversation with Fae, he’d told her, was to be unyielding without being insulting. It was important for Sarah to appear confident without coming across as an aggravator. Given her track record, Jareth couldn’t help but be a little anxious that she would fly off the handle if poked too often. It was all very well and good for her to stand firm against the Council as she had before, but today could easily earn her a nasty reputation if she was too aggressive in her responses. As the morning progressed, and they met different groups of his relatives and peers, he started to think he needn’t have worried so much. Sarah was a natural. She could have walked the fine line blindfolded. Polite but self-assured, she allowed them to question her without batting an eye. At first, the attention stemmed from disdain or mistrust. They remarked on her age or asked how she felt about infringing on their way of life. When they acknowledged her at all. A fair few people had questions only for Jareth: what did he think he was doing, wasn’t he ashamed, what did he intend on doing with himself now that he’d been ousted from his position? He answered with aplomb, more than used to smart-talking his way out of conversations with relatives.

                Sarah was more direct in her responses. She told them of her life Above in plain detail, casually enough to divert interest while still answering questions. As for the more pertinent demands, she told the same story over and over: how she was grateful for the opportunity to change things with the hordes, how she had been given years and magic and would use them wisely, how she was interested in learning more about Domain history. Clearly the months spent scouring through his library had helped. Odd pieces of information would slip out from time to time, knowledge she’d gleaned from maps and history books. She received surprised stares on those occasions, and even impressed nods. At one point, flashing him a mischievous look, she started to recite a poem in perfect Fae language as if not quite intending for others to hear. It was a love sonnet that he’d recited syllable by syllable until she could repeat it verbatim. He’d kissed the words into her skin on many a warm afternoon. The overheard little recital stunned their company into silence. If Sarah could only say the words and had no real clue what they meant…well, they didn’t have to know that.

                “She’s a well-versed little parrot, isn’t she? An excellent memory for repetition.”

                Jareth turned sharply toward the source of the jibe. His cousin Romman stood leering at Sarah, a smirk on his thin face. Luckily Sarah was too busy talking to have heard. “Romman,” Jareth acknowledged coldly, flashing his pointed teeth in a mocking smile. “What nasty little crevice did you crawl from today?”

                “I bet you filled her little head with wonders, cousin,” Romman continued quietly. “I’m sure she was quite the willing vessel, after a few lessons in discipline.” He winked.

                Jareth wanted to tear the man’s throat out. “Leave, Romman,” he said low, trying to avoid drawing attention.

                “Oh I’m sorry, am I meant to believe you _didn’t_ pump her full of information before today? Or have I gotten it wrong?” He tilted his head, studying Jareth. “Are _you_ the one that’s been tamed? Has she filled _your_ head with pretty human nonsense, hmm?”

                Jareth’s face twisted with a feral snarl before he smoothed it down. There was much to hate about his cousin, least of all the man having any interest in Sarah. Rumours of his treatment of women were not exaggerated, and Jareth knew what Romman might attempt if he found anything in Sarah to be curious about. Forcing down a torrent of rage, he leant in to lightly brush off the man’s lapels. “You ought to be more careful with that tongue, dear cousin,” he commented, gaze trained just beyond him. “Else I’ll find a goblin who’d enjoy ripping it from your mouth.” Romman tensed as Jareth looked him square in the eye. “If I am indeed the puppet master as you infer, do you not think me quite capable of arranging a meeting between you and the hordes?”

                Romman had turned a pale shade of white, and not in outrage. “You – you can’t –”

                “There is _nothing_ left in the world that’s beyond my capabilities, in some way or another.’ He gave the threat a moment to sink in. “Now. I suggest you leave us be, indefinitely.”

                His cousin nodded silently and vanished into the crowd. Jareth linked his hands behind his back to hide their furious shaking. Licking dry lips, he edged closer to Sarah and pretended to follow whatever she was talking about to his aunt.

                If that was the only encounter, Jareth would have been happy. There were others, rude relatives who spoke out of turn and Councillors that tried to take Sarah down a peg. They handled these moments well, considering. Marina showed up out of nowhere to call away a Councillor who was on the verge of going too far. Jareth intercepted an uncle who was known for his sharp tongue. Sarah took on the rest with impressive ease, keeping her cool under scrutiny and only throwing back what she was given. After a while he realised he was more proud than worried. He also noticed a shift in attitudes. The people that sought them out did so out of curiosity rather than a desire to needle them. Not that being studied as a creature of sudden interest was much better, but at least he didn’t have to stand at Sarah’s back like a bodyguard.

“How am I doing?” she murmured in the few seconds they were granted a reprieve.

“Spectacularly.” He drew her hand up to his and kissed it swiftly, pressing it to his chest. “You were made for this, love.”

“Don’t know if I’d say that, but it’s easier now they’ve stopped looking at me like I’m a leper.” An Elf passed by with a tray of wine. “Should we have a drink? Biting my tongue is making me thirsty.” She reached for a glass but he halted her hand.

                “Best not,” he told her gently. “Fae alcohol is far more potent than even Goblin ale, Sarah. You’ll be on the floor with one sip.”

                She shrugged, momentarily disappointed before something caught her eye and she lit up with joy. “Wick!”

                The Elf was clearing empty plates from a low table beside them. Or at least he _had_ been, until Sarah slipped around Jareth and pulled the Elf into a hug. “I didn’t know you’d be here! Why _are_ you here? You’re not cleaning, are you? Did you ask Lina about this? I…” she babbled on happily, clearly glad to see a friendly face.

Jareth could feel every pair of eyes on them, and knew Sarah had made a mistake. While his relationship with Elves was growing every day, it hadn’t yet occurred to Sarah that maybe others’ would take time. And that of all places, a royal event was not an appropriate venue to boast affection for servants. It wasn’t her fault, of course. Years would have to pass before Fae began to see Elves as anything other than ‘the help’. Around the room murmurs started again, the kind that bore snickering and scoffing. Sarah, innocently oblivious, actually made to help Wick clear the plates before Jareth stopped her with a gentle hand.

She stared at him, puzzled, before realising just where she was and why her friend wasn’t quite making eye contact. Putting the Elf’s furious blushes together with the faces in the crowd, she wilted. “Crap,” she muttered. “I messed up, didn’t I?”

“I’m afraid so,” Jareth murmured, subtly tugging her arm so she stood closer to him than Wick. “This may have knocked your progress back somewhat, love.” His skin prickled at the sidelong glances thrown their way.

                “I’m sorry,” Wick muttered. “I asked to be stationed here so I could keep an eye out for you. I forgot you’d be so – well – _Sarah_ about it.”

                “What, you mean happy to see you?” Sarah asked incredulously.

                The Elf blushed deeper. “It’s a very ‘you’ thing to do.”

                Damage was being done with every second they prolonged the conversation. “I suggest you take your leave, young Wick,” Jareth instructed softly. “Find another task to complete, hmm?”

                Wick shook himself of his unease, determined not to cause any more trouble. “Of course. Right.” At the last minute he refrained from touching Sarah’s hand, turning instead to the plates without another word to her.

                “Sorry,” Sarah mouthed to him, before taking Jareth’s elbow and leading him away. “Why did you let me do that?” she hissed. “Now I’m back to square one!”

                “I’m not a bloody mind reader Sarah,” Jareth replied. “How was I to know you’d find a friend here?”

                “Have you _met_ me? I have friends everywhere!”

                Which was true, for the most part. She did seem to cultivate relationships at an alarming rate. That instilled in him a faith in her ability to amend this little faux pas in the future. “The ceremony will start soon,” he said. “Shall we make our way to the grand hall?”

                “Please,” she nodded in agreement. “Before I say damn it all and get stuck into that wine.”

                He chuckled, surprising them both, and drew her away. His sister was to be crowned soon enough; the realisation gave him a little much-needed perspective. “They’ll get over this,” he assured Sarah, leading her out of the hall and down a corridor. “Everybody knows change is coming. Your little display was just another piece of proof.”

                Sarah glanced back at the reception hall momentarily, heavy-eyed. “And I did such a good job with the poetry too,” she said with a shake of her head. “Win some lose some, I suppose.” She frowned as they turned a sudden corner, disappearing down an empty corridor. “Hey, where are we – mmph –”

                Jareth spun her against the wall, pressing them both into a hidden alcove, and kissed her hard. She responded quickly despite the shock, curling fingers in his hair and tugging him firm against her with a faint moan.

He wasn’t quite sure what had come over him. Maybe the morning’s strain had finally plucked a nerve too many. She’d been damn impressive in that room, mistakes and all. He’d never seriously considered making her his Queen in the early days of his infatuation. Wallowing deep in the marshes of self-loathing, he’d hoped for a distraction. Someone clever enough to keep his interest, to entertain him. There had never been a genuine hope for finding his equal. In the years he’d spent watching her grow up, he’d realised her true potential. And now, oh, how happy he was that she’d turned him down that first day. Though he thought he’d loved her then, she would have been nothing more than a trinket. Now here she was, royal in her own right, a Queen by her own design and damn if he’d had much to do with it. He knew what it meant now to love someone in earnest, without wanting to possess or bully them. Cupping her face, Jareth inhaled the delicate perfume of her.

Sarah’s hands fell to his wrists, settling there, while she stared at him in a daze. “What the hell was that for?” she asked, even as she nudged against his lips in search of more.

He kissed her again, fervently, awash in the frustration and bliss of loving someone like Sarah. “If I was still King, I would have asked that you be my Queen,” he murmured aloud, contemplative, skimming a hand along her throat. He could feel the twin pulses of her heart and his magic beneath the surface of her skin.

When she trapped his hand beneath hers, he felt a warm trickle down his spine and shivered. It was at once painfully familiar and completely foreign, the kiss of magic in the air that had once been his. Now it was Sarah’s, infused with her humanity, diluted by her inexperience. “I don’t need titles,” she told him firmly, flushed with heat.

“And yet you will have them soon enough, your Majesty, even if they are not taken from myself.” The warmth of her beneath him was intoxicating. The heat pulsing between their joined hands was strong enough to burn, but neither of them let go. “I have given you my all, Sarah. My heart, my years, my magic…is there nothing else you would wish to take?  What about my name?”

“Jareth…”

“Would you _like_ my name, Sarah?”

She nodded mutely.

                “Then take it,” he replied hoarsely, feeling that slow burn where their hands touched. He wondered if she knew what she was doing. “I would promise myself to you, Sarah.”

                Eyes wide, biting her lip, Sarah nodded. “Same here, Goblin King,” she whispered, gasping at the sudden fire trapped between their hands.

                He kissed her, marvelling, transcending, knowing what they’d find when they stopped.

 

* * *

 

 

There were many things Sarah would remember about the coronation of Lina El’Maven. The Elf who spotted them hurrying away from the alcove and the way Jareth laughed at his expression. The fact that the Palace’s rich perfume no longer seemed to bother her. Jareth pointing out a window to the crowds that lined the Palace gates, all manner of Domain inhabitants of every age, creed and colour. The details of their faces were a mystery at such a distance, but their sung praises told of how much the young Queen meant to them. Her deep-seated rush of joy at being part of such a momentous moment in Domain history, and her gratitude for being part of it in a personal capacity.

She’d always remember the quick glimpse of Brynn standing further back in the grand hall, resplendent and solemn, and the happiness she’d felt at having found something kind in the man who’d once killed her. Taking her place with Jareth among the highest standing Fae and the faces she’d remember in years to come, when they finally befriended her. The odd tune that signified the start of the ceremony, bells tolling that seemed to her a death march, while others’ faces shown with rare passion. Lina’s beautiful gown, spun gold and shimmering as she made a slow path down the aisle, every bit the regal heir to a Throne that was older than anybody knew. The look brother and sister shared as she passed by, a look so potent with love and meaning Sarah felt an intense longing for her own siblings. Of the formality itself Sarah would recall very little. The Council droning about history and birthright and honour, while Lina stood like a statue and gave responses in a clear voice. The crown, thinly wrought and gleaming like blackened sunshine, disappearing in the curls of her faded auburn hair. The abrupt end to the ceremony and the events that took place afterwards: meeting for drinks in the royal reception hall, Lina being whisked away by every second person for something, a few of Jareth’s cousins getting so drunk they were asked to leave.

Yes, there many things Sarah would remember about that day. But most of all she’d recall the soft delighted squeal from Lina upon spotting the matching marks on Jareth and Sarah’s wrists. She’d remember the strength of the woman’s arms around her waist, holding her close, and she’d remember thinking _my sister-in-law is the Queen. Hell, **I’m** a Queen._ She’d look back on the oddly stiff exchange between Brynn and Lina when they thought nobody was watching, and understand what it meant, with hindsight. Later, examined for authenticity by a string of befuddled lawmen, it would be decided that the weave Sarah had cast was sound, however unorthodox, and that the promises made between she and Jareth were up to interpretation.

She’d remember Ezra in a fit of rage, as usual, snapping at her: “You cannot just...just _take a husband_ in that manner.”

And she’d remember the warmth of her hand in Jareth’s, their wrists freshly scarred but beautifully marked all the same, as she smugly replied: “I already did.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was not so much a honeymoon as one uninterrupted day together. And it wasn’t so much one day as a few blissful hours. Still, they deserved it. Sure, some people were sceptical about accepting their definition of marriage. But Sarah had taken Jareth’s name for herself and rings were involved, on wrists if not fingers – really, what else did you have to do to be with someone for the rest of your life? To her, it was enough that they’d said it to each other. And reason enough to demand a few private hours to celebrate. Or so she’d thought.

                “Unbelievable,” Sarah groaned, shutting the door forcefully behind her. This was the fourth time in as many hours she’d been called to her office to receive a messenger from the Palace. Elves were being sent left right and centre on behalf of the Council. They wanted her approval on missives being sent out to declare her seat on the Labyrinth Throne. They wanted to keep her updated on how the announcement was being received. They wanted her to know any little thing that was happening that morning in regards to her and the Goblin Realm. “They’re punishing me, I know it.” She found Jareth lounging in the bay window of their bedroom and made a beeline for his lap. The fact that she’d been called away so many times he’d actually given up and put on pants was disheartening, but not something she couldn’t remedy. “Ezra’s pissed because we did this –” she flashed her wrist vigorously – “and they’re sending all these messages to mess with me.”

                “She _is_ capable of being so petty,” Jareth agreed, welcoming her into his lap with greedy hands. “And possibly Jini is too, but I doubt the others are involved. Else this wouldn’t be happening.”

                “Well, the woman needs a tighter leash. I’d ask Lina to reign her in if she wasn’t so busy.” It didn’t take much for him to divest her of clothing. She hadn’t even bothered to put on a bra for the last interruption. As her blouse fell away Sarah arched into him, savouring the abandon with which he touched her.

                “You could threaten to a bog a few of them,” Jareth murmured against her collarbone, preoccupied with finding the clasp on her skirt. “That always stemmed the tide of goblins running to bother me.”

                “And is that any way to run a Kingdom?” she chastised. “By shooting the messengers? Besides, it’s not the Elves’ fault. They’re just doing their jobs.”        

                “Mmm,” he grunted, frowning. “You’ve far more patience than I, love.”

                “I can see that. You need a hand?” He was clearly struggling to remove her skirt, glaring at the delicate clasp as if it were doing him a personal wrong. Laughing, she smacked his hands away and did it herself, standing and letting the skirt fall to the floor. It never failed to thrill, the wonder of his gaze on her. “Still seeing those stars and moons, huh?” she asked, reaching out a hand.

                “Always,” he replied, catching her fingers, letting her tug him to his feet. “Now come here, wife.” He pulled her flush against him, hands settling on her lower back, chin dipping into her shoulder.

                “Hmmm, I like the sound of that,” she purred, lips brushing his collarbone, hips swaying against his. They moved like the tide, a languid waltz of to and fro. Sarah heard some old tune from yesteryear, bluesy and sensual with piano. He stepped back just enough to twirl her with ease. She spun slow, delighting in his eyes on her body, their fingertips barely touching as she curled beneath his arm. The frustrations of the morning evaporated. “Say it again,” she murmured, coming back to his chest, dipping fingers beneath the waistband of his pants.

                “Wife,” he hummed, forehead against hers, and then: “ _Sarah_ ,” in a low growl as she pressed her hips sharply into him.

                When had she become this Sarah, who was a wife and a queen and whose name could sound so illicit coming from Jareth like that? The beginning of the year seemed a lifetime ago, when she’d sat in morning traffic five days a week and slept late on weekends. It didn’t feel so long ago that she’d stressed about having Karen and her mother in the same room over Christmas, and that the courier always knocked over her delicate mailbox with his van. Nobody knew her in the Above anymore, but they would when she found time to deal with it. And then she’d have to move her belongings to the Castle, quit her job – _Gladys will miss the crap out of me –_ explain to Adele why she was out of a roommate, leave some kind of magical forwarding address for all her mail…the list was complicated and endless, but she wasn’t overwhelmed. No, she was _excited_. Because she was Sarah the Goblin Queen, wife of Jareth El’Maven, _the babe with the power_ – and her new life would be well worth a little time spent sorting out her old one.

 

* * *

 

 

Jareth found he was adjusting quite well to his new sense of freedom. It should have been a shock to the system, being cast from the Throne and all its duties after so many years. Yet he’d been so absorbed in the complications of Sarah taking over and Lina being crowned that he hadn’t had time to think about it. The day after their self-proclaimed ‘honeymoon’, Jareth stood on their balcony overlooking the Castle gardens and contemplated his new purpose in life. That he would counsel Sarah in her endeavours was a given, but while she did need him and his experience, she also had Brynn for those matters. So what was he to do, magicless and mortal, when she and her second-in-command went off to answer wishes? He thought of his favourite moments with Sarah, in the Library pouring over old texts and maps, reading and learning and philosophising.

                “Tea’s ready,” Sarah announced, padding barefoot across the stone to join him. She wore one of his shirts that barely fell to the knee and carried two steaming mugs. He smiled, taking the one she proffered, enjoying the ease with which she settled against him at the balustrade.

                “I’m thinking about returning to my old studies,” he said, surprising them both.

                “Great idea,” Sarah replied, sipping gingerly at her tea. It was very fresh; he waited for his to cool. “Then I know you won’t be getting into trouble while I’m at work. Think Malibar will take you on again?”

                “Perhaps. He did give the Two Cuts. All should be forgiven.” He could see Hoggle working in the gardens not far below them, hacking away at weeds that had overtaken a fountain. It was a familiar sight, comforting in its simplicity. To think once he’d have bogged the goblin for the fun of it. “It would require travelling, sometimes.” He eyed her sideways.

                “Even better,” she remarked, watching Hoggle too. “You could get out of this Castle every once in a while. I could come with you.”

                He grinned for more than the excitement on her face. He’d been about to ask if she would join him. “That would be wonderful, precious.”             

                “It’d be fun to see other places in the Domain. Maybe even spend a bit of time around the Goblin realm, you know, get to know my people.”

                “You already think like a Queen,” he commented proudly. He sipped his tea. It was wonderfully warm and sweet.

                Sarah made a thoughtful humming noise against the rim of her mug. There was a spark in her eyes, a familiar colour he saw whenever she was deep in contemplation. “What do the Fae do with criminals?” she blurted out.

                He blinked. “I’m sorry?”

                She ran a thumbnail along the railing with a free hand, clearly contemplative. “I’ve been thinking…you were in a serious amount of trouble because of me. You were pretty much sentenced to death because of the whole ‘thou shalt not love a human’ thing. What about everyday crimes like theft? How do you punish murder and rape?” Her voice hardened, expression sombre. She encircled her mug with two hands and inhaled the steam absently.

                “You have no need to concern yourself with those thoughts, Sarah,” he told her gently. “There is a system for dealing with such discrepancies.”

                “So it happens, then. Even in a world like this. Even with Dwarves and Elves and silent waterfalls, there are still rapists and killers and thieves.”

                He wished he could tell her she was wrong. “What’s brought this about?”

                “I’ve seen the way some of your people look at me, or the Elves – hell, even each other. They’re dangerous looks. And I thought…why wouldn’t they have those feelings for other people too? What would stop a Dwarf from being a common thief, or a Fae beating his wife? Just because they aren’t human doesn’t mean they aren’t flawed just like us. And I’ve been wondering what’s going to happen when the hordes are sick of losing in the Labyrinth. If I’m so busy fighting to keep humans safe from them, what are they going to eat?”

                “They don’t need to eat,” he replied, latching onto the only answer he could provide. “Goblins only kill for sport, Sarah. You don’t have to nurture them in any respect.”

                “But I could distract them,” she replied. “They’re going to feel cheated eventually. And what happens then? They’ll blame me and we’ll be back at square one, with my head on the chopping block. So…what if people in the Domain who commit crimes have to prove their worth against the hordes? Humans have to do it, so why not others? The worse the crime, the more difficult their time is in the Labyrinth. The people who really deserve punishment will find it, and the ones who don’t can learn their lesson. I remember you saying that you kept the worst of the goblins out near the borderlands, right?”

                “That’s correct,” he replied slowly.

                “There’s lots of space out there?”

                “…for what?”

                “I want to clear out the Goblin City for the more innocent ones to live in again. You know, the ones who used to be people, like Diego. I want them to feel safe without having the Castle packed with little half-goblins. _So_ , I want to propose an idea to Lina: split the Labyrinth into purposes, first to test the moral worth of people who wish away others, and secondly to trial criminals. Organise the trials so they take part only along the western territory of the Labyrinth, towards the borderlands, so that we can persuade the hordes to move out there. In a few years’ time, with enough trials happening to serve as a distraction, the Goblin City will be relatively fit for habitation by the little ones. The Castle won’t be overrun, the hordes won’t feel cheated and the Domain will have a lower crime rate for fear of the punishment.” She was breathless by the time she concluded, mug clutched tightly in one hand as she gestured emphatically with the other. “Well, what do you think?”

                What did he _think_? It was bloody marvellous. It made sense politically, economically and logically. She’d drive the brunt of the hordes away to the less inhabited lands without insulting them, and clear the Castle of any potential dangers. And he knew that her reasoning for all of it was genuinely heartfelt. There was no notion of manipulation or power in her ideas. She wanted safety for her more vulnerable subjects, for her dangerous ones to feel acknowledged, and for people to feel less inclined to do wrong by others. They were all very _Sarah_ things to want, and he glowed with pride for it. “I think,” he murmured low over the rim of his tea, “That the Domain has been waiting a very long time for a leader like you.”

                She beamed at him, suddenly shy with the praise. It was so endearing he felt compelled to kiss the blush from her. She complied as he gently pushed away her tea, tilting her chin up to receive him –

                “Hey! Yer Majesty!”

                Hoggle’s voice was gruff and obnoxious, just the right pitch to dampen his ardour.

                “Yes?” he and Sarah both called at once, sharing a smile, while inside he thought perhaps he wasn’t so far above bogging the Dwarf-goblin.

                Sarah, a little more diplomatic, sought out Hoggle below, leaning over the balustrade. “What’s up, Hoggle?”

                Jareth, contenting himself with slipping a hand up the back of Sarah’s – _his_ – shirt, had little interest in the Elf who’d joined Hoggle down in the gardens. The ill-fitted clothing left plenty of room for wayward fingers to entertain themselves. The skin of her hips twitched under his attention.

                “An emissary here for Jareth! Says he’s to see the Queen today!”

                Sarah met his gaze, shuddering beneath his hand, biting her lip.

                “It can wait,” he told her. “One hour, at the very least.”

                “ _Very_ least,” she agreed, nails noticeably digging into stone. Good to know he wasn’t the only one easily worked up. “What’s your name?” she called to the Elf.

                “Loot, Miss!” replied the messenger, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

                “Thanks for the invite, Loot, but can you come back in a few hours? I’m not done with Jareth just yet!”

                _She_ wasn’t done with _him_? From the flush of her chest and the breathy catch in her voice, Jareth rather thought it was the other way around. Yes, Lina could wait a little while longer.

                “I would advise against delaying.”

                Again, his advances were stilled.

Sarah groaned and turned to face their new companion on the balcony. “Oh, for the love of – Brynn, _what_ are you doing up here?”

                The Fae took care in brushing his coat off, straightening the cuffs while Jareth pulled his hand from Sarah’s clothing and tugged the hem down over her legs. He stood partially in front of her for good measure, though Brynn showed no interest in her once he locked eyes with Jareth. “I have little options when you insist on barring the door with goblins,” he remarked. “How did you persuade them to stay at their posts, might I ask?”

“By promising them the hide of anyone who tried to interrupt us,” Jareth commented dryly.

Sarah lay a hand on his arm. “It’s kind of rude to just appear in our bedroom, Brynn.”

The Fae spread his hands out. “We aren’t in your bedroom,” he countered easily, still watching Jareth with unerring concentration. “I might point out that it’s also quite rude to lock oneself away during one’s coronation. You _are_ aware of the announcements going out, aren’t you Sarah?”

                “Oh, I’ve been kept _very_ well up-to-date,” Sarah replied. “What do you want, Brynn?”

                “I’ve been summoned to the Palace myself by the Queen. I wondered if Jareth would prefer to accompany me, given that this visit concerns us both.”

                “Both of you?” Her surprise matched his own. “What’s it about?”

                “Trivial matters, I assure you. Political agendas.”

                “Nothing I should be worried about?”

                “Of course not.”

                Jareth was confused by the suspicious tension between Sarah and the other Fae. They seemed to be having a completely different conversation with their eyes. He had no clue what was being said, but by the final look on her face she was appeased about some worry or another. “If it isn’t pressing, then what’s the harm in delaying?”

                “It’s important to your sister.” The man stared at him blankly as if making a point.

He narrowed his eyes. “Well then, I wouldn’t dream of upsetting her,” he responded tightly. “Let’s be away.” He took the man’s arm gruffly.

“Looks like you can head off, Loot,” Sarah called to the Elf below. Jareth had completely forgotten about him. “We’ve got it covered. Tell Lina she’ll have company soon.” She turned to them. “Let me just get changed –”

There was a sharp tug in his navel, a dizzying lurch, and the colours of the world faded to black. He heard a mug smashing on the stone floor and then the balcony was gone, Sarah was gone. Jareth shut his eyes against the transportation, thrown off guard, barely keeping hold of Brynn’s arm.

                When it stopped, he felt another sharp twitch in his abdomen – no, not a twitch, a _blinding stabbing howling **pain**_.

Something was very wrong.

He stared down at the blade jutting from his stomach. Not just a blade – a sword. Reeling, mouth hanging open in shock and agony, Jareth blinked at the weapon stuck deep within him. His hands moved reflexively over the hilt without finding purchase.

Soundlessly he gaped at Brynn, who returned a grim expression with troubled eyes. “It had to be done,” he declared. “There was no alternative.”

Jareth had never expected this, conflicted as he was over the man’s history. It was disappointing, to be proved right on one’s worst suspicions. His legs buckled without warning but Brynn caught him swiftly, lowering him carefully to the floor. He cushioned his head with something. Rage boiled within now that the shock was wearing off. _You’re taking me away from Sarah._ He pictured her face, smiling and kind, crumpling with grief. _Oh, **Sarah. No.**_ He bared his teeth in a rictus snarl, trying to pierce Brynn’s arm with his nails.

                The man ignored the attempts, brushing away Jareth’s hands.

                Someone screamed.

                He knew it was Sarah before twisting to look – the movement jarred his soul, scraped glass along his spine and he fell back to the floor with a gasp.

                “How did you – no.” He heard Brynn’s voice. “It doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t have come, Sarah. I’m sorry.”

                He didn’t know why Sarah wasn’t upon them now, throwing herself down, attacking the Fae – but he couldn’t move again for the life of him.

“It had to be done this way,” Brynn murmured to him. “You have to be on the verge of death for it to work.”

                Jareth blinked, registering the words as he met Brynn’s eyes. Understanding dawned, before being washed away by a blistering wave of agony. The copper tang of blood filled his mouth; the fire roaring through him drove away conscious thought. Lights flickered at the edge of his vision.

                “I do…regret that it must be this way. For many reasons. You best brace yourself.”

                The sword was ripped from his body, throwing him into a gushing, blazing pulsing frozen hell – Jareth groaned, long and guttural, convulsing in delirium. Sarah’s shouts became white noise. Brynn was moving – something silver flashed beside him, another dagger, and then the man was crushing his hand against Jareth’s gaping wound. Fae language fell from the man’s lips, but he was too far gone to make out the words. Those lights were flickering still, fighting against a creeping darkness that threatened to envelope him. Jareth threw his head back and howled in pain, tears streaming down his face for the gift he’d never expected, from the person he’d been so unwilling to trust.

 

* * *

 

 

Sarah was yelling. That seemed about right.

                The rest of it was…admittedly hazy. He was lying on cold stone, head cushioned, with someone’s shadow falling over his prostrate body.

                Ah. His body. _That_ was an interesting sensation. For just a moment, upon stirring, he’d felt horrendous pain. His innards should be gushing out with a pain such as that. But reaching a hand down, slowly, gently, he felt only torn clothing. The skin beneath was intact and that pain was gone as quickly as it had come.

                “Don’t move too quickly. You’ll be weak for a while,” said the shadow kneeling over him.

A quick study found it to be Brynn, and it all came rushing back to Jareth so that his head spun. Despite the dizziness, he pushed himself up – or tried to. Brynn’s firm hand on his shoulder kept him down.

“I’m serious,” he said, as if he was ever anything else. “You’ll do yourself harm.”

Sarah was still yelling. Why was she not with him – oh. She was a few feet away, hammering her fists against an invisible wall that he suspected had been hurriedly put in place. Smart man. Nothing short of magic would have kept her at bay. “Release her,” he ordered, eyes drifting shut momentarily. He felt the need to be sick, as if gravity were toying with his senses.

“I tried earlier. She only attempted to beat at me.”

Despite himself, Jareth smiled. He looked over at Sarah, who was in tears with fury and fear, her fists pummelling the solid air, and the mirth was gone. He longed to have her in his arms. “Release her,” he said again.

As soon as she was free Sarah ran and threw herself at Jareth, knocking Brynn out of the way. She sobbed, leaning right over him, pressing her face into his neck. She was shivering; he weakly patted her on the back. She was a miracle in his arms after that horrid worry that he would leave her behind in this world. “I saw the whole thing,” she wept angrily. “That sword went through you like you were fucking paper and there was so much _blood_ and when you fell down I felt like I was dying too –”

“I’m very much alive, love,” he assured her. “Alive and perfectly all right. How did you follow us here?”

“I don’t know,” she sniffed, calming down, fists curling his shirt to flowers. “Magic I guess. I just – something felt really wrong to me, the way you both disappeared like that. And I wanted to be with you, and I _heard_ you thinking about me and the next minute I was standing there and –” She broke off, whipping around to face Brynn. Jareth thought she might start yelling again, but instead she started hitting. Smacking the Fae up and down his arms and chest, pushing at him while he took it all in silence. “You stupid fucking idiot, what the _hell_ did you think you were doing? I thought you’d _killed_ him! And what did you do? I _know_ what you did – you gave him your years, didn’t you? You – what the _fuck_ , Brynn? What the –”

“Sarah.” Jareth touched her shoulder from behind. “Stop.”

“It’s quite all right,” Brynn said over Sarah’s continued tirade. “She has her reasons.”

                But it didn’t seem right. Of all the times he’d laughed at her blasé treatment of the man, of how often he’d wanted to beat Brynn himself…it didn’t seem funny anymore. They needed to talk, but couldn’t do so with Sarah losing control. Yes, she’d just watched something obviously traumatic, but he was fine now. He loved the way she wore her emotions like a crown, though it wasn’t always helpful. With monumental effort he pushed himself into a sitting position and took hold of her shoulders from behind. “I said _stop_ , Sarah. That’s enough. Listen to me.”

                His unusually stern tone must have gotten through to her. “I _knew_ something was wrong with you and Lina,” she growled at Brynn, shaking her head furiously, sitting down beside Jareth. Her leg quivered with a restless beat against his thigh. “I just knew it.”

                He very much wanted to ask what any of this had to do with his sister, but they would get to that. “Can you remain calm enough to have a conversation?” he asked her quietly. “Or should you perhaps take a walk?”

                She looked like she was struggling not to glare at him. He _had_ just been violently attacked, after all. It granted him safety from her anger. For a while. “I’m not leaving you two alone,” she insisted, getting to her feet and starting to pace the room.

                Well, it was better than nothing. Jareth flicked his attention back to Brynn, studying the man who had just sacrificed his years. He looked exactly the same. Maybe a little paler, though that could have been the lighting. Jareth didn’t really expect Brynn Fel Vaden to show any signs that he’d just given up his immortality. He lifted his chin, meeting the man with a level gaze. “So.”

                “We had no choice,” Brynn offered, the beginnings of an explanation.

                “We?”

                “You. Me. Sarah. Lina. The web was tangled. I had to make the only logical decision left to us. I had to cut us free.”

                “I don’t understand.”

                Brynn gave no indication that he was aware of Sarah’s intent stare on his back. “Your sister was intending on giving you her years, Jareth.”

                “What?” He was surprised by the flat disbelief in his own voice. “How do you know that?”

                “She told us. Sarah asked me to dissuade her, but she wouldn’t hear it. She wanted to do it for you.”

                “By the Fates’ design, _why_?” Jareth cursed, though he already knew.

                “So that we could be together.”

                He met Sarah’s eyes across the room. She’d stopped pacing and was watching him with teeth worrying at her bottom lip. How had he not known of this? Why had his own sister not discussed this with him? “We _are_ together. We are going to be for a long time.”

                “She wanted to make it as permanent as possible,” Brynn replied. “And wouldn’t let me tell Sarah that our attempts to stop it had failed.” He finally turned around to acknowledge Sarah. “She made me swear as her subject,” he said, almost asking forgiveness. “I had no right to disobey my Queen.”

                “You and your stupid loyalties…” Sarah shook her head. “So you undermined her instead? How is that any better?”

                “The Domain is to undergo much change in the next few centuries, under Lina’s reign. It needs her. For as long as possible. She could not be allowed to diminish herself in such a way.”

                “And what of you?” Jareth asked, already thinking of the long talk he would be having with his sister. “Do you not realise what you have done to yourself?”

                “Of course I do,” Brynn replied tersely. “I’ve given it considerable thought. In the end, my life matters little in the scheme of things.”

                “Bullshit,” Sarah snapped. “It matters to _me_. Don’t you remember why I asked you to talk with Lina in the first place? Because I’m sick of people sacrificing themselves for me! Jareth and I had _talked_ about all this, Brynn! We were fine with it!”

                “I think we all know that is a lie, Sarah.”

                Jareth watched her argue with the Fae, lost to his thoughts. He’d thought he would die in this room, shedding blood like clothing, the floor cold beneath him. All he’d been able to think of was Sarah. Even if they had ninety years together before age caught up with him…he knew now that he’d be dismayed having to leave her. He couldn’t begin to imagine how truly terrified _she_ must have been, thinking of it day and night. Now…they wouldn’t have to face that. Not for hundreds and hundreds of years.

                Sarah was still mad, but losing steam. She looked ready to concede defeat. Which would be best, given there was nothing she could do to reverse matters anyway. “But…you said you wouldn’t even give up your years for your _brother_.”

                “My brother is an idiot.” Brynn blinked, looking to him with clear eyes. “Jareth is not.”

                He half expected a dry comment from Sarah at that…but it seemed he wasn’t the only one humbled by the Fae’s words. It was difficult to think of a response. He’d never thought it possible for someone to redeem themselves so completely, especially in the wake of his actions against Sarah. He offered his hand to Brynn, who took it solemnly. “Thank you,” he said simply.

                “You are the best possible support for Sarah,” he replied. “She needs you.” The man could bury his actions in as much reasoning as he wanted, it didn’t make them any less selfless.

                Behind them, Sarah sniffed. Before either of the men could move, she’d bent down and wrapped her arms around Brynn from behind, pressing her face into his back. “I can’t believe you did this.”

                Jareth could see the man’s face from his position, and it had never looked less Fae. He was openly shocked at Sarah’s weight on him, tentatively touching her arm around his neck. “You’re welcome,” he murmured.

                And then he did something Jareth had never seen him do: he smiled.

 

* * *

 

 

It was funny, the things you could get used to with enough time. Fanged nightmares lurking in the shadows of your home. Being on call 24-7 to answer the wishes of humanity. Debating with Dwarves over the necessity of pest control when it came to Fairies. Sarah took these things in stride, rolling them up into her new understanding of reality. She was careful never to take any of it for granted, though. That was a lesson learnt long ago. Complacency was dangerous in the Domain. So she took careful note of the goings-on in her realm; appreciated her alone time with Jareth; forced herself to be grateful for the chances to meet with the Council on occasion. Though gratitude for the latter didn’t mean she couldn’t complain once out of earshot. It was normal to dislike some of the people you worked with. Stepping through the gateway provided – she hadn’t yet learnt to make her own – the sight of the Castle entrance hall filled her with relief.

                “That woman is a pain in my royal ass,” Sarah groaned, stretching her stiff muscles. Two hours spent hunched over a desk while arguing with Ezra would do that to you.

                “And a rather lovely one it is too,” Jareth mumbled from behind, no doubt making good use of his vantage point. “Completely undeserving of such discomfort.”

                “Down boy.” She headed over to Wick, who was waiting to take them to their next appointment. “What’s next, Mr Secretary?”

                The Elf beamed at her. Discharged from Palace service for ‘misconduct’, Wick had leapt at the opportunity to work for Sarah. He was now in charge of organising her week, enjoying every moment of the well-paid, True-Self-allowing position. More than that, he was glad to be helping her as a friend. Sarah had thanked Lina for the idea a few times. “The midday meal, actually.”

                “Already?” Sarah was surprised to find she wasn’t even hungry yet. “Well doesn’t time fly when you’re trying to justify equal rights to a stuffy old Fae elder?”

                “To be honest, it’s more of a mid-morning meal,” Wick admitted as they made their way to the kitchen. “Sir Malibar contacted us and asked for your lesson with him to be brought forward. Said something about going out for the afternoon.”

                Sarah shrugged, unsurprised. The old Fae changed their meetings a lot. He found it hard to keep track of time. Still, she was excited at the prospect of what she might uncover this week. She thought of her proud moment in the last lesson, placing in Malibar’s hand a perfect ivory magnolia in bloom, which had once been the channelling stone. “At least we get the afternoon off,” she winked at Jareth, who was stepping lightly beside her. They kept their affection to a minimum in certain areas of the Castle, where goblins might notice and question his ‘servitude’. 

                “Perhaps her Majesty would like to attend that private meeting that was talked about.” Jareth kept his voice neutral, though his fingers did brush against hers momentarily. “I would of course offer my service for the time. I am rather skilled in such matters.”

                “Yeah you are,” Sarah muttered, heart beating fast at the thought of how they could spend the time. Apparently Jareth’s immortality was directly linked to his libido. Since being given those years, he’d become almost impossible to be around without some innuendo or another. Not that she minded in the least. They made good of those dirty suggestions often enough. Claiming him as her husband, lawfully or not, had done something to her switch, in that was perpetually turned on. Being granted immortality to match her own seemed to have done the same thing to him. “I hope you haven’t already filled in the afternoon Wick,” she commented. “You know how I like my spare –”

                _I wish…the goblins would come and take you away…right now._

                She slowed her steps. That wasn’t the usual tone people used when wishing others away. It was panicked, heartbroken, desperate. It gave her chills.            

                “Sarah?” Jareth touched her arm.

                Right on cue, Brynn blocked their path to the kitchen with the severity of his gaze.  Being made mortal had barely affected him. He did tend to seem softer around them, if she took the time to notice. Not today. She was too preoccupied with the bundle in his arms. She hurried towards him.

                “I thought protocol would be…inappropriate,” Brynn remarked. “So I intervened before she could be sent to the dungeons.”

                Sarah’s heart hammered painfully against her chest as she stared at the tiny baby in Brynn’s arms. She was so _little_ , a pure creature that made her think of clouds and sunshine and laughter. A totally helpless, innocent life. Her face was scrunched with worried sleep, forehead wrinkling beneath a whisper of black hair. Toby’s early months hadn’t had much impact on her selfish teenage self, but Alice was another matter. Alice’s fuzzy newborn face, soft like the skin of a peach, had nurtured the sisterly love in her fiercely. Sarah remembered helping with diaper changes and bottle feeding, dancing to slow music when she wouldn’t settle. These memories resurfaced as Sarah reached out to take the little girl. Her instincts kicked into overdrive, the need to protect burning hot. “Who would wish away a thing like you?” she whispered, smiling as the girl’s eyelids fluttered open, nestled in the crook of her arm.

                “How old is it?” Wick asked, oblivious to such things. He stared at the baby the way someone would consider a puppy.

                Brynn was no use either – he made a non-committal gesture and mumbled that children made no sense to him.

                “Only a few days, at most.” Jareth surprised them all by stepping forward and smoothing a hand over the baby’s forehead. His touch was delicate, tender, contrasting with the grim set of his mouth.

                “The mother sounds desperate,” Sarah told him quietly. “Like she didn’t mean it at all. How can it work if you don’t mean the words?”

                “That depends on what you hope to gain from the wish,” he told her solemnly. “Just because you don’t _want_ to give up your child, doesn’t necessarily mean you don’t _need_ to. I’ve heard many a last-ditch effort to have someone taken away because they couldn’t care for them.”

                “That’s disgusting.” Sarah shook her head. “I’d never give up my baby. No matter how bad things got.”

                “You don’t know the woman’s situation,” he told her gently. “You can’t judge another’s choices when you haven’t lived their life.”

                “You may get a chance to understand,” Brynn intervened pointedly. “You must answer the call, Sarah. We have work to do.”

                “But…” she gazed at the baby, starting to stir with all the voices. “She needs me to look after her.”

                “You need to answer the wish,” Brynn reasserted. “That is your duty.”

                “Who will I leave her with? Wick doesn’t know anything about babies. You’ll be busy helping me –”

                The baby started to howl. It was ear piercing, gut-wrenching. She wanted to clamp hands over her ears. Everyone winced. “See! She’s upset! It’s okay, ssh, hey little one, sssh…” she rocked the girl back and forth, pleading with Brynn to let her stay. What was she supposed to do? “I can’t leave her like this –”

                “Give her to me.” Jareth’s voice was soft but commanding, the fatherly tone of one who could take control.

                Sarah’s brow shot up in surprise. “Really? Are you sure?”

                “Of course.” He looked amused. “I’ve done my share of babysitting, you might recall.”

                He’d told her about the time he’d spent with the younger children who were wished away, keeping them occupied while their futures were fought for. She hadn’t quite been able to picture it until he reached out and took the baby, settling her easily in the crook of his arm. It looked as natural to him as breathing, humming to the girl so she would stop crying. He smiled down at her, a kind light twinkling in his eyes.

                Sarah and the others just stared at him. “Well then,” she said after a pause. “You’ve got the job, Jareth. I’ll… go meet the mother, I guess.” Part of her wanted to stay and watch him work his magic; it was fascinating to see such tenderness on his face. It was a different kind of softness than the expressions he reserved for her. _Ugh. Come on Sarah. Concentrate._ “Wick, can you cancel my appointments today? I doubt I’ll be finishing with this anytime soon.”

                “She may be willing to relinquish the child,” Brynn said. “You might be done sooner than you think.”

                Sarah glared at him. “I won’t _let_ her do that. We’re going to help this woman. Then we’re going to help her in the Above too.”

                “Your power doesn’t quite extend that far, Sarah.”

                “My willpower does. That’s enough.”

                Brynn nodded. He knew when not to argue. “At any rate, don’t cancel meetings. I’ll reorder time for you once we’re done here.”

                She still couldn’t get used to that. It felt like cheating. Maybe because Jareth had used it to trip her up on her own run of the Labyrinth. Still. It was a useful tool. “Great. Thanks.” She turned back to Jareth, about to double check that he would be okay – but didn’t need to ask. The baby was fast asleep in his arms. Smiling despite her usual nerves, she leant down and planted a kiss on the girl’s downy head. “Don’t worry, we’ll get this sorted out,” she whispered.

 

* * *

 

 

He'd always found newborns to be the easiest. They slept a lot, couldn’t ask endless questions, and generally did very little get on his nerve. Though Jareth _was_ concerned with how he might go about feeding the babe, without magic to conjure up the appropriate substitutes. He’d just have to hope she stayed asleep.

                “Are you going to be all right with it?” asked Wick, still studying the girl as if were a curiosity. “I have some scheduling to do.”

                “It’s a _she_ ,” Jareth corrected lightly. “And we’ll be just fine together. Aren’t you going to eat?”

                “Not really hungry,” the Elf shrugged. “I was only going to eat early because Sarah had to. Now I think I’ll just get some work done.”

                “Suit yourself, young Elf.” They parted ways, leaving Jareth alone with the girl. She was so light in his arms, barely weighing a thing. He wondered what her name was. Once, he’d liked to think up new names for the children he’d collected. Now it didn’t seem appropriate anymore. “What shall we do with you then, hmm?” he murmured to the babe. She twitched her nose. He wasn’t feeling particularly hungry himself, so he took her to the Library to catch up on some reading. There’d be no goblins sniffing around his ankles either, hoping for a whiff of potential new meat. Not that they were allowed to touch any newly bred half-goblins. Sarah was doing a commendable job of keeping the nasty creatures out of everyone’s hair and away from the new additions to the Castle. There’d been only three since her taking of the Throne, children wished away for good. He saw them scuttling around sometimes, addle-brained and devious. They mostly kept to their own mischief.

                Something along the way made him glance to the side, spotting one of the more dangerous breeds dozing in an alcove. It made little sound, curled up, oozing malevolence even in sleep. Jareth’s arms curled tighter around the babe in passing. He wouldn’t even have seen the beast but for that niggling urge to look. That was happening often lately. Was it intuition? It felt like hypersensitivity, a stronger awareness of the reality around him. It felt _almost_ like – no. That was impossible. Shaking his head of the idea, Jareth pushed his way through the Library doors one-handed and sighed in relief at the book song that greeted him. _Don’t be absurd. You’re reading into things. Looking for what isn’t there._

                The humming was a pleasant distraction, calling to him, soothing. He eased carefully onto the lounge, settling the girl in one arm. The book he’d left on the cushions last night hadn’t moved, so he collected it and flicked through the pages. It was another anthology of works by one of the Kiri. They weren’t well known for their poetic ability, so the book was a rare find. He couldn’t quite remember how he’d come by most of the books in the room. Luck, he supposed, and good old fashioned time. He propped the book open on his knee and tried to read.

                Tried. Something was digging into his thigh. Frowning, Jareth carefully eased a hand under his leg and pulled out the culprit – one of Sarah’s channelling stones. A memory came to mind: the bud blooming ivory, petals unfurling, her delighted squeal as the scent of magnolia filled the air. She’d never produced something so substantial before. Grinning at the memory, Jareth pocketed the stone bud – no doubt she hadn’t meant to leave it lying about – and resumed reading.

                The style of the prose was complicated, heavy with the usual ironic Kiri syntax. It took the better part of an hour to familiarise himself with the flow of it. The babe slept on, unaware of his frowns and movements, shifting to stay comfortable. She was a peaceful little thing. Blissfully ignorant of the moral battle her mother was fighting for her, right now. He started to read the poetry aloud when she fussed, his measured cadence lulling her back to sleep. Jareth was genuinely enjoying himself, enraptured in the simplicity of reading to the girl, when he heard the gentle whoosh of the Library door opening.

                “Done so soon?” he called, unable to see the visitor from the lounge.

                Nobody replied.

                “Sarah?” Nothing. “Wick?” A scraping noise. Jareth’s hair stood on end. Frowning, he got to his feet, holding the babe to his chest with one arm, and edged around the shelves that blocked the view of the doorway.

                It was the creature from the alcove he’d passed. The goblin was staring at him, frozen, as if caught sneaking in. Prowling. _Hunting._

                “Her Majesty has forbidden your presence in these quarters,” Jareth spoke coldly, mustering all his royal self-assurance. “You will leave.”

                The goblin blinked red eyes. _New meat._

“What?”

                Its nails clacked together like knives. _Fresh meat. **So** fresh._

                “You will not touch this child,” Jareth spat, all too aware of how little he could do to stop the thing, should it decide otherwise. “The Queen will be _most_ displeased if you –”

                _Tender morsel one bite all it takes –_ it crept forward, tail lashing, trying to intimidate the man who had once been its King.

                He’d ruled these creatures for more than a century. He wasn’t afraid. Feet planted firm, Jareth cradled the babe tight against himself and held his free hand up. “This contravenes the goblin code,” he announced, voice clear as ice. “You shame yourself with these advances.”

                The goblin slowed, considerate, hesitant. Yes, he still knew how to handle them. The girl was stirring against him, snuffling against his chest.

                “Leave this room,” he commanded, inwardly pleading she would stay sleeping. “And this will go unmentioned.”

                Bloodlust roared in those red eyes.

                Too late, Jareth realised his mistake – the creatures were too simple for shaming to override their baser instincts. When the girl moved, she caught the goblin’s attention again. He should have said more but he was distracted.

                And that distraction would cost them their lives.

                The goblin leapt forward, nails unsheathed, mouth twisted in a feral grin – Jareth curled protectively around the girl and threw out a useless hand to ward off the attack.

                Something surged inside him, so familiar and pure it brought tears to his eyes. Heat roared through him, rippling to his fingertips, pouring out invisible threads that stopped the goblin in its tracks. The creature froze mid-air, furious but helpless as it began to disintegrate. There were no screams. Jareth watched as the goblin simply fell away into nothing, into ash, into unravelled threads of existence.

                He blinked and it was completely gone.

                They were alone, he and the girl, his heart hammering as she stirred against him, his mind racing with thoughts of what he’d just done. He blinked again, for there were still tears in his eyes. No mistaking it. Magic. That was – magic. Curious, fingers trembling somewhat, Jareth sought out the channelling stone in the pocket of his vest.

                He held the smooth bud in the palm of his flat hand. It was easy to remember his old lessons, to think of the time he’d spent teaching Sarah lately. He calmed his mind, soothed his pulsing heartbeat, reached out for that familiar sensation of walking blind.

                And watched with a smile as the bud bloomed into a perfect magnolia.

 

* * *

 

 

Sarah had seen teenage mums before. Sure, the parents who’d enrolled their kids at West Kemp High had probably thought they’d dodged bullets. People who were lawyers and doctors and psychiatrists didn’t expect their children to get just any old education. It was the kind of school where teen pregnancies just didn’t happen. Not on the books, anyway. But with a college campus only a short car ride away, and impressionable sixteen year olds trying to act like sophomores…well. Sarah had noticed a few girls disappearing mid-term over the course of her high school years, after looking unwell and putting on weight. So she hadn’t been altogether shocked when she’d met Annalise, who’d looked terrified and miserable and no older than seventeen.

                The shock had come at the difference between her and those West Kemp girls. Where they’d dressed in light pinks and driven cars newly bought by Daddy, Annalise had worn tattered jeans and a fraying sweater and looked a few days late for a bath. Her story had broken Sarah’s heart: no family, no support, virtually homeless. No wonder she’d thought that giving away her baby would be the better option. But Sarah had struck her a deal: defeat the Labyrinth and live in the Domain as a free woman. And she had. So Sarah was on a wonderful high, brimming with hopes for the mother and child’s future, imagining them happily settled into a quiet corner of Domain land. She’d squared it with Lina already, who was willing to grant refugee assistance. All in all, Sarah was feeling quite pleased with the outcome as she and Brynn searched for Jareth and the baby. Annalise was bathing in the private quarters, exhausted and overwhelmed. Sarah had promised to bring her baby straight to her.     

                 She’d expected Jareth to be in the Throne room after her Return, as he usually was. Finding no such thing, they headed for the kitchens. He was probably trying to feed the baby. She hoped not. Newborns couldn’t handle cow’s milk so early. Would a Fae know that?

                “I can’t boast of my own knowledge in that area, but Jareth does seem to have more experience,” Brynn said when she asked him.

                “He’s full of surprises, isn’t he?” she replied, warmed by the memory of the girl tucked comfortably into Jareth’s arm, perfectly settled.

                Her point was proven when they found him in the kitchen, lounging in a chair with the girl resting in his lap. She was gazing up at him in wonder as he sang, playing with her tiny fingers, grinning down at her. The kitchen table was full of food and drink.

                “Thought you might be hungry, love,” he called without looking up, a curious lightness to his voice.

                “You know me well,” Sarah replied, grabbing up a croissant as she planted a kiss on the top of Jareth’s head. “Did you two have fun?”

                “There were some interesting moments,” he replied. “I take it the run went well?”

                “Sarah has quite enviable motivational skills,” Brynn answered, taking a seat across from them and helping himself to bread and cheese. He ate a lot more now that he was mortal, Sarah noticed. “She’d have made a fine General in my old regiment.”

                “You were in the army?” Sarah caught the glass of milk floating slowly towards her and drank from it eagerly.

                “Mmmm,” Brynn replied, staring at Jareth for some reason.

                Another croissant made its way over to her, already buttered and layered with cheese. It landed neatly on her plate, next to a blooming magnolia. “Oh! Did I leave this here?” She picked up the flower. It was more beautiful than she remembered.

                “You left the bud in the Library,” Jareth remarked in an oddly careful way. The baby had one of her petite hands wrapped around his thumb.

                “We should get her back to Annalise,” she commented, distracted, nodding at the baby as dots connected in the back of the mind – “Wait.” Her gaze flicked from the glass in her hand to the croissant on her plate, before gazing in shock at the magnolia. _It’s more beautiful than I remember_. “Who’s –?”

                Jareth was smirking at her, lip curled to reveal the tip of his pointed tooth. “Who’s what, Sarah?”

                She looked to Brynn, who had a weirdly knowing expression on his face. “You’re not doing that?”

                He shook his head.

                Jareth was grinning. Silently he reached over and picked up the flower. It sat perfect and fragrant in his palm for a moment before folding in on itself and becoming a stone bud once again.

                “You – you’re – you can –!” She burst out with a delighted squeal, jumping to her feet, throwing her arms around Jareth’s neck. He held the baby carefully in his lap with one hand and reached up to hold her with the other, laughing. “Jareth, you have your magic back!”

                There were a few blissful seconds of happiness, where Sarah thought that everything might just be completely perfect and that the world had been put right somehow. But she knew by then that nothing came without a cost in the Domain. And as she felt the excitement simmer down, worry filled its place. And questions. “How did that happen? Just like that, with no warning?” She took up her seat again.

                And as Jareth explained, detailing his recent sensitivities and his disturbing encounter with the goblin, Sarah knew for sure that no good thing came without something to balance the scales. So one of the goblins had gone against her rules?

                “It’s worrying,” Jareth admitted. “But not too difficult to counteract. We will spread news of the dissent, but tell of your anger and punishment for the disobeyer. The hordes fear virtually nothing save for what I did to that one. Non-existence terrifies them. It should restore some sort of order.”

                “What exactly _did_ you do?”

                At the question, Jareth looked pointedly to Brynn. “I think perhaps you should tell her. I suspect you know more of this than any of us.”

                Sarah rolled her eyes. Again with the secrets and plot twists? What the hell could possibly be left? “Brynn. Explain please.”

                The Fae met her gaze without flinching and told her that he’d given Jareth part of his magic.

                “You’re kidding.” Sarah felt the urge to glare, but what was the point? What was done, and all that. “How?”

                “Sir Malibar taught me more than just how to perform transference. It’s not a simple procedure, to split one’s magic without burning oneself out. You may have noticed my…healthy appetite of late. I have been feeling rather drained, but that will pass. I instilled in Jareth my ability to touch magic.”

                Sarah looked at Jareth briefly, imagining Brynn’s magic pulsing through his veins. How had she not noticed the difference?        “Okay, I guess the next question is obvious but I’ll ask anyway: _why_?”

                Even Jareth sat up straighter at this. “Yes, I’d rather like to know that myself.”

                “You voiced your concern for protecting Sarah without magic,” Brynn told him. “While I do maintain that you don’t particularly need it to do so, now at least you have the option. And I’m quite glad I did; it came in handy today.”

                “That it did,” Jareth said quietly. “Thank you, Brynn. Again.”

                “I only did what I thought right.”

                “No, I mean it. You are…a remarkable man. And I apologise for thinking differently.”

                “You had your reasons.”

                There was an awkward pause after that, where they seemed to feel they’d shared too much. Sarah decided to fill the silence. “So what _did_ you do to that goblin?”

                “It’s called Unravelling,” Brynn answered, “And it is my particular…skill.” He looked to Jareth. “I’ll admit I was unsure of what you might inherit, but I’m quite pleased with the results. The ability to erase threats from existence is helpful for a man in your position. And you’re right, it _will_ deter any further occurrences. Goblins hate what they cannot understand, but they are terrified of the power involved in Unravelling one’s existence.”

                “How did he pick it up so quickly though?” Sarah asked. “It’s taken me weeks to get where I am.”

                “I’m Fae, love. I already know the language of magic. It’s in my blood.”

Brynn picked up a glass of milk and turned it to water. “You will have to keep it secret from certain parties, of course. The Council. The goblins.”

“Right. Of course. Why?”             

“To avoid being reclassified as enough use to the Domain that your union once again becomes forbidden.”

Sarah met Jareth’s eyes. She hadn’t thought of that. He was to all intents and purposes a fully-restored Fae. That old law might be tricky to navigate again if anyone found out. The panic on her face must have been clear as day. Jareth stood, manoeuvring the now sleeping baby to one arm, and tucked a finger under her chin.

“This will be our little secret,” he murmured. “Nobody will separate us again, Sarah. I swear to you.”

                She nodded past the lump in her throat. “I know.”

                His touch lingered, the promise glowing in his eyes, before he turned to Brynn. “I’m quite surprised at the strength of your magic, comrade. Splitting it in two should have left us with weakened abilities. You never mentioned just how…talented you are.”

                “It didn’t seem necessary to tell,” Brynn answered mildly.

                “And Unravelling? Where did you learn that? In battle?”

                “I didn’t learn it as much as I…”

                Sarah leant back in her chair and watched the two of them, their conversation fading to background noise. Jareth had just called Brynn his comrade. His friend. There’d been a time when she’d thought they were never going reach that point. Hell, in those early days as Brynn’s prisoner she’d never have imagined that they’d all be where they were now. So much had changed and they’d all changed with it. Hoggle, braver than he’d ever been, helping children through the Labyrinth. Wick, confident and reborn with purpose. Brynn, becoming more and more human with each passing day. And Jareth, oh, _Jareth_ …did he realise he was rocking side to side, keeping the baby asleep? Probably not. So much of him was raw instinct. He’d flourished like a bird set free, shedding heady burdens, taking flight into the wordless unknown with her. Loving him was something spiritual. It had saved her life in ways she couldn’t fully understand, in ways she didn’t know she’d needed. To think of life without him was incomprehensible.

He caught her watching him and smiled, more with his eyes than anything else. “Shall we take the little one back to her mother then?” he asked.

                “Good idea,” she nodded, joining him, slipping an arm around his waist. There was a little time before dinner, now that they’d cancelled the day for the run to take place. She could think of a few ways to spend that well-earned time. Brynn went his own way at the door, after receiving her affectionate kiss on the cheek with a fairly flustered expression for once. Laughing in triumph, Sarah threaded her fingers with Jareth’s and tracked a slow path to where Annalise was waiting. The reunion would be beautiful. With her visions of Jareth’s future subsiding, it was difficult to know what was in store for them all, but that was just how she liked it. Anything could happen and it probably would. But that was okay.

She had her favourite people and one hell of a long lifetime.

 


End file.
